


Incompatible

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Sparklings, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:58:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In all seriousness, Doctor, how can I be expected to "handle" myself around the mech that sparked me up?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How?

How this all could have occurred was beyond everyone else.

Optimus rubbed his helm in confusion at the scene before him. Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen holding back a positively _FURIOUS_ Ultra Magnus while Ratchet administered aid to the third Wrecker on the team, who was splayed on the floor with his helm full of dents and knocked completely unconscious.

“So, please forgive me if I don’t completely understand this situation. Magnus, you attacked Wheeljack.”

The Commander of the Wreckers hissed and made a move to wrestle himself free from the other four’s grasps, but they held onto him. The murderous look on his faceplates didn’t leave him as he answered, “Yes Optimus Prime, I did.”

“And the reason you did so is because…you are sparked?”

The last word out of his mouth further enraged the mech. He gave a low roar and jerked forward, managing to pull the four holding him back along with him.

“Ah!”

“Sir, I-”

“Control yourself man!”

“Beep-beep!”

Wheeljack had yet to regain consciousness. Magnus would probably have severely crippled the mech for life if they didn’t keep a hold on him. Ratchet looked over his shoulder at the Commander of the Wreckers, a stern expression on his faceplates. “Magnus, you would do well to handle yourself.”

“In all seriousness, _Doctor_ ,” Magnus spat, his murderous optics looking from the unconscious mech on the floor to the mech trying to assist him, “how can I be expected to “handle” myself around the mech that sparked me up?”

Ratchet didn’t have an answer. He only got to his pedes and looked down at Wheeljack splayed before them on all the makeshift base floor.

“Is Wheeljack alright?” Optimus asked the medic, ignoring the infuriated huffs coming from his second-in-command.

“Wheeljack is fine, and he will soon regain consciousness. We just need to give him a little time and keep a certain mech,” Ratchet gave the blue and white Wrecker a pointed look, “away from him.”

Magnus muttered something with the words “keep him” and “from me.”

“So,” Bulkhead arched an optic ridge and kept himself composed as his former commander turned an angry optic on him, “can someone please explain how this could have happened?”

“Thanks for asking the question for all of us,” Smokescreen commented, still trying to wrap his processor around the information they had all been given. “I mean, just…what?”

“How did you and Wheeljack…how?” Arcee inquired.

“I must say that we are all confused about what could have possibly led up to this. You carrying a sparkling by Loose Cannon here,” Ratchet nudged Wheeljack’s unconscious frame with a pede. Wheeljack’s left servo twitched, but he didn’t move after that. “Do you care to explain?”

Magnus still had the look of murder on his faceplates, so purely hateful that Optimus felt even Megatron would recoil in fear, were the Decepticon warlord present. The Commander of the Wreckers was venting air at a rapid rate that worried Ratchet. The medic rushed over to the carrying mech and placed his servos on his arms, activating his medical sensors while saying, “Magnus you have to calm down! Your systems are running beyond maximum capacity and that is very dangerous for you and for the sparkling.”

It seemed Magnus didn’t care. If anything, it seemed to stress his processors and systems even more. His chassis began heaving and his optics widened as he struggled against the mechs and femme holding him back.

“Magnus!” Optimus shouted, his own optics widening and racing over to the medic’s side and helping the others contain the mech. “Magnus, are you okay?”

In response, the carrying mech yelled and managed to free himself, screaming and running towards Wheeljack’s unconscious form.

Everything happened in such quick succession that Optimus wasn’t even really sure what had occurred. One moment Ultra Magnus was roaring with an agonized expression on his faceplates and bolting for Wheeljack, the next he and Bulkhead had managed to grab him mere feet from the unconscious mech. A blur of white and orange appeared, and Magnus stopped fighting, going limp in Optimus’s and Bulkhead’s arms.

The others looked at the Commander of the Wreckers slumped in Optimus’s arms. The Prime thinned his lipplates at the slacked expression on Magnus’s faceplates and gently lay him on the floor nearby Wheeljack, backing up. “Is he alright, Ratchet?”

“Yes.” A small whooshing sound broke the quiet as the medic stored an emptied syringe back in his subspace.

“Um, don’t sedatives harm sparklings?” Smokescreen asked, slight panic in his tone and eyeing the medic warily.

Ratchet scoffed. “Hardly. That was an erroneous accusation perpetrated by a couple of carriers that gave birth to defective sparklings and blamed sedatives used on the unruly carriers during the gestation cycle for the defects. The real causes were either genetic, because there was damage sustained to the chamber during the carrying cycle, or maybe the Sire didn’t donate enough transfluid. Either way,” he looked at the blue and yellow mech, “Magnus and his sparkling are fine.”

“How progressed is the newspark?” Optimus inquired, optics traveling to Magnus’s midsection. He shifted uncomfortably at the thought of it swelling with a newspark. That would be a sight.

“Approximately an Earth week. Not very long.” Ratchet extended his right arm and turned it palm-up, flicking open a panel on his wrist and activating a holographic projector. A translucent screen flickered into existence, and everyone saw the scans that had alerted the Magnus to the fact that he was carrying. “He came into my makeshift medical bay complaining of severe fatigue and increased energon intake. A quick scan revealed this.”

Everyone looked at the spark pulsing onscreen. So early in development. At first glance the only thing you’d see was the spark itself, but if you really focused longer one could make out the faint shapes and forms of the body beginning to come into existence.

“This is quite puzzling, however,” Ratchet commented after a few minutes of silence as the others stared at the newspark displayed before them. “From what we have witness ourselves, and from what we have been told about the past…mostly from Bulkhead, who witnessed it, Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack continually clash and argue with each other.”

“You couldn’t cut the tension with the Star Saber,” Bulkhead mumbled, earning a glance from Arcee.

“Exactly. How could they manage to cooperate long enough to bring a newspark into existence?”

“That,” Optimus looked down and arched an optic ridge at the two Wreckers splayed out on the floor, “is a question that can only be answered when these two awaken from their respective slumbers.”

.-.-.

One moment he had been in a rage and trying to wrap his servos around the white-armored Wrecker’s neck.

The next moment he was waking up, utterly confused about everything. Why were there other Cybertronians standing over him? Why was he so tired and aching everywhere? Why were they all yelling?

“-nus, are you-”

“-okay, Commander?”

“Mmm fi’e,” Magnus muttered, sitting up and placing his helm in his servos. The light was too bright and his helm spun wildly. “Wha’ ‘ppen’d?” he inquired, raising his helm and squinting his optics against the light.

“I had to inject a sedative into your systems to get you under control,” came the medic’s voice. Magnus flinched and struggled to see straight as Ratchet kneeled in front of him. “You nearly killed Wheeljack.”

Huh? Why would he…

Then he remembered.

A flicker of rage rose in his systems for a moment before he quashed it. Hearing a groan, he turned around to see Wheeljack raising himself to a sitting position. The flicker of rage reared its head again before Magnus closed his optics and thinned his lipplates. No.

“Magnus-”

“Do not worry, Optimus.” The Prime could hear the exhaustion in the mech’s voice. “I have already exhausted my supply of anger for a long, long while.”

Wheeljack eyed Magnus warily and scooted away from the mech as far as he could, even in his half-dazed state.

The silence was tense and daunting as Optimus knelt in front of Magnus, next to Ratchet, and placed a tentative servo on Magnus’s arm. “Magnus, I understand that this is a touchy subject…but we must know. Was this carrying cycle forced upon you?”

Shoulders slumping, Magnus shook his helm. “No. It was a mistake. Completely consensual.”

“How?” Smokescreen asked before Bulkhead could beat him to it. Bumblebee titled his helm, emitting a curious warble.

Wheeljack looked ashamed and looked away from everyone else as he said, “Our last energon raid. That mine we chased the ‘cons out of and stripped of its energon in Sweden.”

“That was…a week ago,” Ratchet realized, arching an optic ridge and locking optics with Optimus.

“Yeah, it was. You all remember I broke out some high-grade and passed cubes around.”

“Remember? We remember you breaking it out and getting smashed on it, but we don’t remember much after Smokescreen couldn’t handle the stuff and started making out with Bumblebee,” the blue motorbike scoffed. Bumblebee’s optics widened at Arcee’s comment and he whacked Smokescreen upside the helm, eliciting an indignant yelp from the Elite Guard member.

“Well, thanks to the high-grade, old Magnus here and I were able to tolerate each other’s company for longer than two seconds. One drunken comment led to another, and next thing we knew…”

“We both woke up the next morning,” Magnus continued for Wheeljack, looking at the ground and not meeting anyone else’s optics, “in my berth. We agreed to forget it ever happened.”

“None of us expected this.”

Silence fell over the assembled Cybertronians. Wheeljack got to his pedes, stumbling a bit, and turned around, his back to everyone and his arms crossed over his chassis. Magnus only cradled his helm in his servos.

“So, the question now is,” Ratchet stood from his kneeling position, “do you wish to keep the sparkling, Magnus?”

Wheeljack made a noise, turned around, and opened his mouth, but Ratchet cut him off with a curt, “This is Magnus’s choice, Wheeljack. He is the one carrying, not you.”

The question made the Commander of the Wreckers thin his lipplates and sigh in frustration.


	2. Keep

“I’ve always wanted a sparkling. Just, not at this time…and I certainly didn’t expect to be the one carrying them.”

_Well, I wasn’t expecting to ever have sparklings, period,_ Wheeljack thought to himself, his lipplates in a straight line, _’specially with a mech that strangles me with regulations every chance he gets._ But the Wrecker decided that now wasn’t the time to snark, so he decided to just keep his mouth shut and continue to stare straight ahead at the wall. After a few moments of gravid quiet he decided to shatter it. “Who did you think would be carrying the kid?”

Magnus shifted in his place at Wheeljack’s left. “Whomever I ended up bonding with.”

This was where Wheeljack would have opened his mouth and made a snide remark wondering whom would ever want to interface with the Commander of the Wreckers, much less bond with him. Then he remembered why the both of them were even in this situation in the first place.

“So, like the Doc said, do you want the sparkling?”

Wheeljack didn’t have to look up and meet his Commander’s optics to know that there was a full-fledged internal war going on, more intense than the thousands of stellar cycles that this actual war had lasted.

Magnus slowly inhaled and then exhaled, drumming his digits on the floor of the makeshift base, the sound echoing in the empty room. Had he not asked that everyone disperse and leave him and the sire of his child alone, he likely wouldn’t have been able to hear such a sound. For so long he’d wanted sparklings. Even just one would have been wonderful. Then the war came and destroyed everyone’s lives, and with it, their dreams. Including his of having a family. And, they were at war. A war that no sparkling should ever have to be born into.

“Commander?”

He closed his optics and thinned his lipplates, making a decision that he hoped to Primus he wouldn’t regret.

“Yes. I want to keep the sparkling.”

Silence fell between them both, broken only by the sounds of their systems working. Magnus reopened his optics and vented a loud sigh. “I want to keep the sparkling,” he reiterated, more for himself than for the sake of his sparkling’s sire. _I don’t want to terminate this sparkling._

Wheeljack cleared his vocals and furrowed his optic ridges in thought. He raised his optics to the ceiling and sighed. “I figure I better take responsibility too.” Magnus turned his helm and looked at the Wrecker in surprise. “Takes two to tango and make a sparkling. Not going to leave the carrier of my kid alone in the dust, no matter how much he and his slaggin’ regulations grate on my processor.”

Having known Wheeljack as long as he did, the Commander of the Wreckers had expected a wholly different answer. Everyone else could plainly see that the both of them did not get along well, nor did they make any sort of attempt at voiding such assumptions during their time on this planet. Magnus looked away from Wheeljack and only replied, “I… I…well, I am grateful that you’ve chosen to…to take responsibility.”

Wheeljack didn’t reply. After a few moments of quiet the white Wrecker got to his pedes and turned around, offering a servo to the Commander of the Wreckers. Ultra Magnus was just as confused as Wheeljack at the gesture, if the “What am I doing?” expression on his subordinate’s faceplates was anything to go by. Taking the shorter mech’s servo, Magnus got to his pedes and steadied himself. His helm suddenly seemed to shut down, then reboot. He removed his servo from Wheeljack’s and placed them to the sides of his helm. Both mechs stared at each other for another moment before Wheeljack nodded and turned his back to his superior, making his way for his berthroom.

Magnus felt a quick pang of loss. But he was more than certain that it was the sparkling’s doing.

As Magnus turned to retire to his quarters, he became aware of a faint whirring sound. He looked up and saw a small camera staring at him. He arched an optic ridge at the device before he continued on his way. Either Optimus Prime or Ratchet knew of his choice by now.

.-.-.

“I hope you both know that, though you may not be at all interested in a relationship, for the time being you will have to engage in regular interfacing.”

After both mechs had parted and returned to their respective quarters the night before, Ratchet had pinged both of them and told them to report to his medical bay so he could perform a full evaluation on Magnus and educate them both about what to expect in the upcoming weeks. The thought of interfacing, however, made Magnus arch an optic ridge and widen his optics. The white-armored Wrecker made a quick expression of disgust and then slackened it as he asked, “And _why_ would we want to do that?”

“Because,” Ratchet raised a servo and none-too-gently poked Wheeljack in the middle of his chassis, “if transfluid isn’t donated to the sparkling on a regular basis, which would be probably twice an Earth week on here, the sparkling will come out with a myriad of physical and mental complications. And that’s if the carrier doesn’t miscarry at first from lack of nanites. The coding in the transfluid helps ensure a healthy sparkling. And,” Ratchet turned around and looked around in the large box that much of his medical equipment had been unceremoniously tossed into, “I’ve never met a pair of creators that didn’t want a healthy sparkling.”

“Does it have to be _mine_?”

“Not exactly. But you said so yourself, Wheeljack, you will be taking an active role in your child’s life. As such, you’ll be expected to fulfill your sire-ly duties by donating your coding to the sparkling to help with its development. If you’d up and left without a trace, or offlined, then someone else whom consented to the carrier’s choosing would have to help out.”

Magnus hadn’t looked pleased at the idea of having to interface with Wheeljack at least twice a week, so he wasn’t too thrilled at the other option. He thinned his lipplates and closed his optics, reopening them. Ratchet nudged Wheeljack out of the way, shoving him towards the head of the berth Magnus was sitting on, and proceeded to reveal a long metal wand from his subspace. “Lie down,” he ordered the Commander of the Wreckers, extending the tool over Magnus’s frame when the biggest mech of them three obeyed.

It was mostly silent in the makeshift med bay, save for the sounds of the wand performing its thorough examination on the carrying Wrecker. Magnus suddenly felt humiliated at his predicament and raised his servos to his faceplates, placing them over his optics and inhaling deeply.

“You’re fine, Magnus.” Ratchet shut off the device when the scan was complete and he’d attached a wire between his processor port and the scanner, uploading the results directly to his helm. “And the sparkling is in good health so far, but I will need to give you energon with nutritives mixed in to help speed up growth. If you hadn’t given into your dire need for more energon and instead stayed with your ration of one cube a day, it’s likely that your sparkling would be in dire straits.”

“Ah, so you were the one stealing everyone else’s energon from the storage room.”

Too late.

Before Wheeljack realized that that was not something to say to a carrying mech, Magnus’s faceplates had shifted from disturbed and reserved to angry, and the Commander of the Wreckers had whacked him upside the helm, further adding to the dents in Wheeljack’s helm that had yet to be fixed.

With the events of the day before still fresh in his processor Ratchet stepped between them and grabbed them both by their arms – Wheeljack’s a little more roughly than Magnus’s – and glared at both of them. “The others and I won’t always be there to keep your temper, _Magnus_ , and your running mouth, _Wheeljack_ , in check,” Ratchet hissed, his optics flaring. “So if you both are planning to keep the sparkling and co-parent it, you will need to resolve a lot of issues between the both of you before the sparkling comes and is witness to its carrier trying to kill its sire.” The medic unceremoniously dropped their arms and walked over to the empty space on the berth where he’d set the scanning wand, picking it up and setting it back in his subspace. “We have enough fighting between us and the Decepticons. We certainly don’t need any of that slag in our ranks.”

Ultra Magnus thinned his lipplates and angrily eyed Wheeljack out of the corners of his optics. The white Wrecker was rubbing and poking at the dents in his helm, flinching at how hollow his helm sounded.

“Wheeljack, I apologize for hitting you. I’ll…I’ll do my best to control my temper.”

His subordinate turned his helm slightly in his direction, the right part of his lipplates twisting up to form a half-grin. “And looks like I’m gonna have to keep my mouth mostly shut around you.”

 _If you knew what was good for you, you would get your lipplates welded together until the sparkling comes._ But Magnus just kept quiet and allowed Ratchet to place a small stack of datapads in his servos. The small size could fool the casual viewer, however. There was a considerable weight to it. The heavier the datapad, the more useful and crucial the information contained within.

“You’re in your first week Magnus, so all that can really be seen of the sparkling at first glance is the spark itself.” Ratchet whipped out the holographic projector in his wrist as he had the night before, giving Magnus his second glimpse, and Wheeljack his first glimpse, of the sparkling they had created in a drunken stupor. The normally harsh glare in Magnus’s optics softened and Wheeljack shifted uncomfortably on his pedes as the medic continued, “At this stage, and up until midway through the third week, the sparkling’s exposed spark can determine whether it’s a mech or a femme. After the deadline of the third week the forming body becomes too thick and opaque to see through it, and the creators have to wait until the sparkling’s birth to find out. That being said,” Ratchet shut off the projector, “I have already figured out the gender of the little one. Do you wish to know?”

“I think I could wait until the sparkling’s arrival to learn whether it is a femme or a mech,” Magnus said rather emotionlessly, looking over at Wheeljack briefly before activating the first datapad and beginning to read it.

The white Wrecker shifted on his pedes again, looking like he was dancing, and smiled. “Ah, I’m pretty sure it’s a mech anyway. What is it, that one out of every thirteen sparklings born back on Cybertron were femmes? Solus being only femme out of the Thirteen and all.”

“Yes, yes. The percentages were usually a bit skewed in those official studies, but the average came out to one out of every thirteen births was a femme. Well, if you both feel you can rest and wait for the surprise,” Ratchet walked over to the doors of the makeshift medical bay and opened them up, “you both are free to go. Magnus, I’ll need you to report back here twice a week…preferably after Wheeljack donates his coding, so I can determine whether the sparkling is progressing at an adequate rate…” Ratchet’s faceplates twisted into a wicked grin, “and if Wheeljack may need to step up his donations.”

The thought made both mechs feel disgusted.


	3. High Grade

_It always came down to the high-grade._

_That was the first coherent thought of the night that raced across Wheeljack’s processor (since downing five cubes of high-grade) as his servos roamed around the broad chassis of the mech with him. The last thing he could fully remember without all the fuzz in his mind was grabbing another mech’s aft, scraping his digits over the metal armor._

_Now, here he was._

_In a berth._

_With a mostly blue and red mech._

_Lipplates met his own as he leaned down over the frame of this mech, capturing his lipplates in a sloppy kiss. A questing glossa prodded at his lips, which he parted to grant his partner, his commander, access._

It’s always the high grade that makes a bot do stupid things, _Wheeljack mused to himself as his own glossa met Magnus’s, both of them battling for dominance. Large servos roamed over his back, running along the fins that stuck out from his shoulder struts. The sensation made the white-armored mech shiver and arch his back slightly. In this distraction, Magnus had won. The Commander of the Wreckers gave an uncharacteristic chuckle as he tugged the smaller mech towards his quarters, reaching behind him with one servo and fumbling around with the keypad. His digits slipped and he entered the wrong passcode in twice, but he got it right on the third attempt. Once the doors slid open he yanked the younger, smaller mech through the opening and tossed him to the berth._

_Wheeljack grunted in pain, the force of the impact momentarily disabling his ability to move. He groaned and shook his helm, faintly aware of the taller, older mech climbing atop him. A servo groped at the apex of his thighs, seeking his interfacing panel. Magnus was at least capable of moving around with half an idea of where he was going. Wheeljack just groaned and lay on the berth, his helm spinning with a mixture of lust and inebriation. He had to be far more intoxicated than his former Commander. Either that, or Magnus was a much more experienced drinker than he had initially led them all to believe._

_“Open up,” Magnus hissed, his nimble digits working to try and pry open the white-armored mech’s interfacing panel. “Come on, open up. That’s an order, Wheeljack.”_

_The white-armored Wrecker gasped as Magnus became more insistent, digits poking and prodding at the panel, desperately seeking the prize behind it, as if his life and existence depended upon him-_

_Wheeljack bucked his hips and emitted a startled noise from his vocalizer as the panel opened. Either he had done so subconsciously, or Magnus had managed to get it open. Whatever the case was, his spike was now freed, jutting out from his body. When did he get so aroused that it stood nearly perpendicular to his frame?_

_Nearly a moment later that question fled his processor as a servo grasped his spike, thumb swiping over the tip and smearing the bead of transfluid (when had it started leaking?) that had begun collecting at the slit. Wheeljack squirmed and vented hot air as his sensors were stimulated. He managed to lift his helm up just in time to see the Commander of the Wreckers give him a predatory grin before he opened his mouth and lowered his helm-_

_OH. PRIMUS._

_The sensors on the back of Wheeljack’s helm registered a Pit-load of pain as his helm fell back and met the berth. He emitted choked gasps as the other mech moaned obscenely around his spike, bobbing his helm up and down, his glossa tasting every inch of his spike, leaving no nanometer untouched._

_Primus, when did Ultra fraggin’ Magnus of all mechs get so good at giving head?_

_It took every last bit of self-control that the white-armored Wrecker possessed to not start thrusting feverently into his Commander’s mouth. He didn’t know his own strength when he did so, and as a result, many of his berth partners had left with dented armor and busted lipplates. Wheeljack reached out and grabbed at the edges of the berth, only to find none within arm’s length. So he settled for lifting his arms up and reaching at the wall, clawing at the brick and concrete as he began a slow, steady pace of thrusting._

_Magnus pinned his hips down, drawing off the spike in his intake and grinning wickedly. Such a grin would never have been witnessed without the high grade in his systems to draw it out. “Stay still, soldier. No thrusting, no moving. That’s an order.”_

_“Yeah?” Wheeljack grinned, a mischievous glint in his optics. “An’ what happens if I don’t obey?” To test his superior he arched his hips into the servo still holding onto his spike_

_Before he knew it, another servo came down and slapped him across the faceplates. Wheeljack looked at his commander in shock, wondering if that had actually occurred and hoping he wasn’t hallucinating. Magnus smirked at him through his haze of lust and high-grade and lowered his helm again, enveloping the white-armored Wrecker’s spike in wet, slick heat, drawing his lipplates up towards the tip at an agonizingly slow pace. Then Magnus scraped his denta along the length, making Wheeljack shout and jerk his entire frame, earning him another whack across the faceplates._

_“Did I not make myself clear, soldier?” Magnus snarled as he let the spike free from his oral cavity, optics flashing in inebriated anger. Wheeljack only shut his optics and flattened himself against the berth, huffing in frustration as his superior resumed his actions, scraping his denta along the length of his spike while swirling his glossa around the tip. Primus, so good, so good…_

_Wheeljack felt his plating begin to rattle on his frame as overload approached, about to crest and envelop him in sheer pleasure. His inhalation rate and exhalation rate increased, he opened his mouth to allow him to scream out his release…_

_Then the hot mouth that had been around him disappeared. Cool air wafted over his wet spike. Wheeljack groaned in frustration and opened his optics, looking up to see Magnus smirking at him over the tip of his spike. He noticed that Magnus’s servo was someplace down on his frame, and his question about what he was doing was quickly answered when the Commander of the Wreckers shifted on his legs, raising his frame. Wheeljack’s optics darted down and he saw that Magnus had released his spike. A servo was curled around it, stroking and pumping the erection._

_Moaning and hissing in pleasure as Ultra Magnus slid his spike against his, Wheeljack rocked his hips slightly, bumping their spikes together. Magnus curled a servo around both their spikes and began stroking them while moving his own hips. The noise that Wheeljack made was a cross between him choking “Primus,_ YES! _” and a gasp of arousal._

_“Are you aware,” Magnus leaned forward and whispered into Wheeljack’s audio, “that no other bot has been inside me?”_

_In his inebriated state, Wheeljack emitted a wanton moan as he imagined his commander’s valve. Slick, tight, wet with lubricants, clenching around his spike. Primus, so perfect. The white-armored Wrecker squirmed as Magnus thumbed the tips of their spikes, smearing their transfluid and mixing it together at the tip of his thumb. “No other bot has had the opportunity granted to them to impale me with their spike. You are the first.”_

_Magnus gave their spikes one last stroke and thrust, grinding against each other, before he maneuvered himself to hover over Wheeljack’s spike. The other mech heard the unmistakable sound of an interfacing panel sliding back. The heady, delectable scent of lubricants reached through the cool night air and tickled at the white mech’s olfactory sensors. His blue optics watched with no small amount of lust as Ultra Magnus reached down and gave the other Wrecker’s spike a gentle stroke before moving his digits to his valve, teasing the sensors at the rim before plunging two of them in. The sound that Magnus made sent a delightful shiver down Wheeljack’s back strut, as did the blissful expression on the blue mech’s faceplates as he twisted and crooked the fingers within his valve._

_Panting heavily, Magnus raised his faceplates to the ceiling as he added a third finger. Lubricants dribbled down his digits to his wrist, where they dripped onto Wheeljack’s spike below. Wheeljack emitted a very frustrated groan and began arching his hips upward, trying to get his spike into that inviting heat. Magnus looked down and gave the other mech a mischievous smirk. He removed his digits from his valve and placed them at Wheeljack’s lipplates, watching as the smaller mech took them into his mouth and sucked the lubricants off of them as he shifted his frame and lowered himself down on Wheeljack’s spike_

_It was Wheeljack’s turn to emit an obscene moan. Tight, wonderful heat. Primus above, he hadn’t experienced this in eons. Wheeljack gasped as Magnus rolled his hips and removed his newly-cleaned servos from his mouth. The Commander of the Wreckers smiled drunkenly and began bouncing up and down on the other mech’s thighs, taking his own free spike in his servo and stroking it, both mechs’ gasps and moans echoing in the quarters. Wheeljack reached out and placed his servos on his superior’s hips, optics glazing over as the mech rode his way to damnation, looking blissful the entire way._

_“Wh-Wheelj-jack,” Magnus gasped, his optics flaring near-white. “I’m n-not…” the blue mech trailed off to a low moan as his overload peaked and crested, as evidenced by his optics going completely white, the spray of transfluids across Wheeljack’s chassis, and the rush of thick lubricants down his thighs. Wheeljack grunted and groaned as his own overload hit, feeling his transfluids filling up his Commander’s valve._

_Without prior warning, Wheeljack opened his chassis, optics completely glazed, his processor in a daze as his blue spark, his lifeforce, was revealed to the other mech._

_Magnus glanced at the bared spark before him. No words were spoken as he opened his chassis plates, exposing his blue spark, and leaned down. Their lifeforces met and intertwined, mingling, but not deeply enough to form a permanent bond._

_Overload hit them once more._

_Then everything went dark._

.-.-.

“Um. H-how?” Wheeljack arched an optic ridge and had to quash his urge to turn and walk out. His optics looked over the frame of the other mech currently splayed out on the berth. Magnus didn’t look too thrilled at the thought of their expected duties, even less so than he probably did, the white-armored mech thought to himself.

“Whatever it was that abled you to spike me and spark me up, soldier,” Magnus hissed at the white-armored mech.

“You sure you want me drunk out of my processor when I donate coding to our kid, _Commander_?” Wheeljack snarked.

The datapads that Magnus had been busying himself with had a section dedicated to the subject of transfluids helping the sparkling develop more quickly during their time inside the gestation chamber. Among the many things that the datapad had said was not desirable was for the donator of the fluids to be intoxicated or in any sort of ill-health. So that was a no. Magnus looked over at the other mech with reproachful optics. “I’m certain you have someone else whose image would flood your spike with the fluids that our sparkling needs.”

Wheeljack thinned his lipplates and returned an equally reproachful glare. “None of your business if it’s true or not, _sir_.”

Magnus groaned and huffed in frustration. He felt a need for a spike inside of him, a spike emptying transfluid inside of him, that was not his own need. The sparkling was in need of their Sire’s genetic coding. The urge continued to grow more insistent as time passed without so much as a movement on either mechs’ part, and the silence and tension between them thickened. Placing his servos over his optics, Magnus sighed. “Whatever, whomever it may be, I have no business asking. What I do ask, however, is that you do this for the sparkling. You said-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d do my duty.”

“‘I’d do my duty,’ _sir_.”

Wheeljack held back a disgusted snarl. “Yes, _sir_.”

The Commander of the Wreckers turned his helm and glared at Wheeljack for a few moments before resumed his original pose. He closed his optics and vented a sigh before he slowly parted his legs and bent them at the knee. _This is for the sparkling,_ he told himself.

Wheeljack looked at his commander spread before him. He closed his optics for a brief moment and allowed his interfacing panel to open up, exposing his spike.

But unlike that night, his spike was limp.

He sighed and reopened his optics, climbing onto the berth. He gently nudged Magnus’s legs, coaxing them to spread apart, and settled himself between them. Taking his spike in a servo, Wheeljack grimaced as he tried his best to get it erect and swollen with transfluids. He slowly stroked his spike with the servo while reaching down with his other one and tracing along the seams of the other mech’s interfacing panel, coaxing it open.

Magnus thinned his lipplates and gave in. He resisted the urge to jerk when a digit teased the sensors around his valve and then wormed into his frame. He lacked the lubricants needed to make this an easier, less painful process. Magnus bit down on his lower lipplate and willed himself to produce fluids.

Wheeljack continued stroking his spike and moved his digit around the blue mech’s valve, stimulating the sensors within to produce lubricants. Slowly, his digit became coated in the substance. He removed his digit and grasped his half-erect spike, guiding it to the other mech’s valve. Both mechs hissed as the length breached the valve.

“Wheel…jack,” Magnus jerked his hips and groaned. “Be done with it.”

“Whatever you say, _sir_.” Wheeljack removed his spike, closed his optics, and began pumping his spike furiously, thinking of the one mech he’d ever really had some romantic feelings for. Topspin. Though he was pretty sure the sentiment was because they had shared a few nights in the same berth, together. He felt his overload about to hit, and he managed to reel in his self-control and place his spike back in the carrying mech’s valve.

Magnus moaned as Wheeljack thrust lightly, twice, three times, before going still. A hot rush of fluids streamed into his valve and made its way up to the gestation chamber, where the sparkling immediately began to use the coding to help build its frame.

Wheeljack gasped and quickly removed his spike, reaching down and closing the interfacing panel.

“You may leave.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Wheeljack knew it was an order. He shook his helm and departed without so much as a word. Magnus didn’t look anywhere except at the ceiling until he heard the doors shut and lock behind the retreating mech. He placed his servos on his helm and sighed before closing his own interface panel and grabbing a few cleaning cloths he’d stolen from Ratchet.

He was not looking forward to having to endure this.


	4. Reasons

“How long have you desired to have a sparkling?”

Magnus had his processor focused on interfacing session the night prior. And the session three nights before that one. A few moments passed before the question that the medic had asked him fully registered in his mind. He looked over to Ratchet’s frame hunched over the medical supplies bin as he searched for the scanner and the wire to connect said scanner to his helm.

“Is this question medically related?”

“Not…exactly,” Ratchet replied, arching an optic ridge at the heap of medical equipment.

“Then why are you inquiring, doctor?”

“I was just curious, that was all,” Ratchet huffed in mild offense, setting up the scanner with the wires and connecting the main one to his helm. “I used to ask these types of questions to break the silence back on Cybertron. Most carriers and sires were cooperative and answered, but there were quite a few that acted in a manner reminiscent of yours.”

Magnus didn’t speak. His optics did the communication for him as he gave the medic’s back a reproachful glare. Ratchet could sense the hostility (and dare he say confusion?) emanating from the other mech, so he decided it would be best for both of them if he dropped the subject. He stepped over to the medical berth and held out the wand-like device over the Wrecker Commander’s abdominal plating.

He was nearly three weeks along. If one looked for longer than a few moments, they would notice the faint curve of his abdomen. It was apparent that the sparkling was going to be quite large, and Ratchet’s thoughts were confirmed when the scanner transmitted a live feed of the sparkling directly to his processor. The sparkling’s still forming frame took up their carrier’s gestation chamber. Most of the plating had solidified, but the little one’s spark was still exposed. He could now see whom the little one would resemble more closely.

“You and Wheeljack have been doing well with the interfacing sessions. The sparkling is coming along very nicely, and development is up to where it should be. How recent was your last session?”

“The night before.”

“Ah. Well, as I said, the sparkling is doing well. Your own vitals are optimal for a carrier at this stage. The sparkling is beginning to grow and is taking up all the space in your gestation chamber, so by this time in two weeks you may be sporting a noticeable curve to your abdominal plating.

Magnus didn’t look at the medic, only closing his optics. He reopened them and turned to the other mech. “Ratchet, do you believe I am doing wrong by keeping this sparkling?”

The medic was taken aback by the question. He disconnected the wire between his helm and the scanner, clearing his vision so he saw Magnus unobstructed. “Magnus, I cannot deliver judgment as your physician.”

“Then deliver judgment as my longtime friend, and once lover, from long before the war’s beginning. Am I doing right in keeping the sparkling?”

Ratchet closed his optics and sighed, reopening them. He sat down on the berth, next to the Wrecker. “As your friend, Magnus…as your friend, I would honestly say that I do not believe you are wrong in bringing a sparkling into the universe. I know that you will be an excellent creator, and I am sure that Wheeljack, with all his flaws, will wise up.” He turned and looked at Magnus, whose own optics were cast down at the floor. “I feel a couple is only wrong to bring a sparkling into their lives if they do not intend on caring for said sparkling.”

Magnus continued averting the medic’s gaze. He joined his servos together, intertwining his digits, and exvented loudly. “Ratchet, if I may be frank with you, I’m incredibly terrified, and I am beginning to doubt my abilities to raise this sparkling.”

“For what reasons?”

Magnus bit down on his lower lipplate. “When we were together, I never told you about my desire for a sparkling.”

“Correct. I honestly never did take you to be one for sparklings.”

“The reason that I am afraid is because I am worried I will repeat this cycle.”

“What cycle?”

“My sire and my carrier were never there for me, Ratchet. I was witness to them fighting countless times throughout my childhood in the Slums of Tagan Heights. Sire would often waste the miniscule amount of pay she got as a dockworker at the Hydrax Spaceport on high grade and prostitutes.”

Magnus’s optics dimmed at the memories of his sire stumbling through the front-door, blackout drunk on high grade. On more than one occasion another mech or femme would be on her arm, giggling madly and clearly drunk as well. He remembered being in the hallway as carrier would race out of the master berthroom, screaming obscenities at her bondmate and whichever strange bot was in the domicile. Carrier would grab the nearest heavy object and bash it over the strange bot’s helm. Fighting would commence, as always.

He would crawl from the hallway to the narrow and long closet that served as his berthroom, and lay on the floor the entire night, wide awake and listening to his carrier and his sire screaming at each other, with the occasional crash of a broken object. When the sun peeked over the horizon he would step out to scavenge for energon and find sire passed out on the floor of the living area vomit around her mouth. Carrier would be sitting in stony silence in the berthroom. At a younger age he would stand at the doorway and make noises to get attention from carrier, but she never gave him any. As he grew older he knew that his attempts were futile.

“Carrier seemed more concerned with trying to keep sire around than trying to actually provide for me. Solar cycles could pass and neither of them would speak a word to me.”

Ratchet thinned his lipplates and nodded. “You did tell me you did not learn to speak until you were almost six stellar cycles, which put you far behind in development than other sparklings. Your creators neglecting you, failing to speak to you or stimulate your environment, making you learn, were evidently detrimental to your development.”

“It did. I was not put in any sort of schooling. My creators couldn’t be bothered to enroll me even into the free primary academies.”

“How did you learn to speak? How did you catch up to other sparklings your age?”

Magnus finally looked up and into Ratchet’s optics. “You recall that I ran away when I turned fourteen stellar cycles? I believe I did tell you.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I began running away from home for short lengths of time, a solar cycle or two, sometime before I turned six stellar cycles. I would wander into the market places and listen to the mature bots bartering and trading. I would listen and try to mimic them.”

“Which would explain why you’ve always spoken in a professional manner.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” He had never entertained that thought before, and it brought a half-smile to his lipplates. Magnus then sighed and leaned back on the medical berth, putting his servos behind him and planting them on the surface. “I began wandering around and trying to imitate the bots that spoke. That was how I learned to speak, though I couldn’t put context to the words at that age. Later, I did learn. Much, much later.”

Ratchet leaned back on the berth as well, sighing heavily. Magnus had never been forthcoming about his past to anyone.

“When I left home for the last time, I swore I would never return. And I swore that if I ever became a creator to a sparkling,” he placed a servo over his midsection, “I would never repeat the same cycle. I swore I would never treat a sparkling the same way my own creators did, how their own creators did, and the creators before them. But now, now that I am carrying, I am afraid that I will break the promise to myself. I’ll repeat the cycle.”

The medic’s processor was reeling with all the new information he had learned of his longtime friend. Having grown up privileged and in the upper-mid castes, he’d known no suffering, hadn’t gone without.

“Magnus,” Ratchet placed a silver servo on the bigger mech’s arm, “I can assure you that I believe you will not repeat that cycle. You are much better than your own creators, grandcreators, and so forth. You already have broken that cycle by leaving, and making something of yourself.”

The Commander of the Wreckers sighed heavily. “I still harbor my doubts, Ratchet. But thank you for listening to my complaints. I…” Magnus trailed off. He decided he had burdened Ratchet with enough secrets and new information for the week. The Wrecker closed his optics again. ‘Ratchet, I know I said I would like to wait until the sparkling’s birth to know if they’re a mech or a femme, but-”

“Let me guess,” Ratchet grinned at the other mech. “You changed your mind and now you want to know.”

“Yes,” Magnus nodded, looking rather ashamed at himself. Ratchet only chuckled and said, “I’ve had many creators-to-be come to me and beg to learn if they’re having a mech or a femme. Rarely do I get one that actually does wait until their child’s birth.”

If anything, Ultra Magnus only looked more displeased with himself, but he said nothing. Ratchet plugged the wire from the scanner back into his helm and activated the holographic projector on his other servo’s wrist. A live video of the sparkling appeared, and Magnus’s optics softened at the sight of the little one.

“I will need to convert the feed from the usual black and white to color.”

“I have an inquiry: why are the videos always in black and white?”

“If the feed is in black and white,” Ratchet stated, nodding to the holograph beamed from his wrist that showed the live feed of the sparkling sucking on their digits, “it does not require much energy to transmit to the holograph, and we can see the sparkling in real time. But when I need to convert the feed into color, it requires a bit more energy that can cause the feed to lag behind by a few seconds. Say the sparkling finished sucking their digits at this moment and moved to the other servo. We would see it as it happened in black and white, but if it were in color, we would not see it until maybe three to five seconds after.”

Magnus nodded slightly, showing that he had heard and understood what the medic had told him. He reached his digits out to the holograph, gently stroking the sparkling’s outline as if he could actually touch them.

“When you’re ready, I will switch the feed to color.”

“Now, before I change my mind.”

“Okay then.”

A few moments later, the holographic screen flickered from black and white over to full color. The live feed lagged, just as the medic had said it would. Magnus moved his digits away and said, “How do I tell if the sparkling is a mech or a femme, Ratchet?”

“The fluids in every carrying mech and femme’s gestation chamber are golden. The easiest way to tell whether the sparkling is a mech or a femme is to look at the fluids that are directly around the developing spark chamber. If the fluids all around are still a hue of gold, it’s a femme. If the fluids are tinted a shade of green, it’s a mech. So…” Ratchet smiled and craned his neck over the holograph to see the Wrecker’s facial expression. “What are you carrying?”

Magnus stayed quiet for what seemed to be a long time, but in reality was only thirty seconds. His optics widened as it hit him. He inhaled deeply before saying, “But…it is a one and thirteen chance.”

“Yes. And Primus granted you and Wheeljack that chance.”

Magnus reached out again, touching his servos to the sparkling’s frame, marveling at the all-gold colors of the video feed. “A femme” he whispered, his voice shaking. “A femme.”

“Yes,” Ratchet smiled at the astonished expression on his friend’s faceplates. “You’re carrying a little femme.”

“I…Primus, like Wheeljack, I had believed I was carrying a mech, but I’m carrying a femme,” Magnus whispered, his optics turning glassy as he blinked back tears. He almost never cried. After all this time, living with his past, all the horrors of war, he was going to be a creator. To a femme.

“Would you like me to call Wheeljack in and let him know?”

A grin spread across Magnus’s faceplates. “No. Keep him in the dark. Do not tell him that I know.”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality clause, then. This is safe with me.”

Magnus nodded in silent thanks as he watched the sparkling, his daughter, sleeping peacefully. 


	5. Confession

"Wheeljack…”

“Yeah, me-e too sir.”

Magnus’s servos curled into fists and he lifted them up, planting them on the wall and scratching at the concrete as Wheeljack increased the tempo of his thrusts, hips hammering against his aft. The white-armored mech’s digits scraped at his commander’s hip plating and he lay himself across Magnus’s backplates, rolling his hips and drawing himself all the way out before he thrust in again. Magnus’s back bowed and he groaned his release, optics flaring white.

Wheeljack followed moments later, moaning as his liquid coding escaped from his spike and trickled to the other mech’s gestation chamber for the sparkling to use up. He leaned back slightly, still holding onto Magnus’s hips, and sighed. He rolled his hips lazily and closed his optics, savoring the feeling of his spike encased in warmth.

“Wheeljack,” Magnus rasped out, looking over his shoulder with dimmed blue optics, “I would very much appreciate it if you removed your spike from my valve.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” Wheeljack did as he was told, cleaning off the leftover fluids from his spike before he shut the interfacing panel. Below him, Magnus none-too-gracefully dropped on the berth to his side, panting and clenching and unclenching his servos. He rolled onto his back and closed his optics, chassis still heaving. A servo moved to his abdominal plating. Wheeljack’s optics followed the movement.

The past few weeks had passed by in a blur that he could barely remember. He and Magnus had fragged quite a few times already, and those were the only snippets that he could seem to remember at the moment, besides Miko throwing out a bunch of name suggestions that he actually didn’t mind. Well, he didn’t mind _some_ of them. However, he knew well enough that Magnus would not be open to the idea of naming their sparkling Ironfist.

He watched as Magnus rubbed gentle circles on his distended midsection, hissing through his dentae as the sparkling kicked at his intakes. At the last checkup, Ratchet had said that the sparkling would come within the week. The medic had gleefully shown them the sparkling’s now almost-complete frame on the scans, upside down and already in the head-first birthing position.

Wheeljack’s servo twitched as he fought off the urge to join his servo with Magnus’s, place it over the swollen plating and feel their sparkling move and kick. If he hadn’t known better he would have done so already. But he did. And he wasn’t in the mood to have an incredibly moody and emotionally volatile bot slap him across the faceplates.

“Wheeljack?”

“Hmm?” the white-armored Wrecker lifted his gaze to look at his commander directly in his now-opened optics. Magnus arched an optic ridge and replied, “Do you need something?”

“Um, no. I don’t.”

“Well, what are you-”

“I know, sorry, just about to leave sir.”

Magnus kept reproachful optics on his subordinate, tracking his movements and ensuring that he left him alone. Wheeljack swiped off some of the congealed fluids from the berth before hopping off it and retreating to the hallway. The doors slid closed behind him. Magnus sat up (not without a bit of a struggle, albeit) and reached down to his valve, closing the interfacing panel. The sparkling gave his intakes another hearty kick then stretched, reclaiming whatever last bit of space there was.

“Please don’t keep me up all night,” Magnus mumbled even though he knew that it was completely useless. The little femme did whatever she wanted and refused to pay attention. He hoped she wouldn’t continue this behavior as she aged. He’d never been able to handle Wheeljack for longer than a solar cycle.

Nonetheless, he grinned and moved his servo over his abdominal plating. The little femme pressed her servos against his own, seeking his touch. He chuckled lightly and fell into recharge with the femmeling punching at the palm of his servo.

.-.-.

The sparkling had fallen into recharge by the time he’d woken up. Seemed to be the norm for her. She’d be asleep during the daytime, when he was up and around, and then she’d begin kicking and squirming, like clockwork, around the time he was supposed to recharge.

Magnus sat up, placing a servo at his lower backstrut and standing up. The little femme stirred slightly and stretched before going back into recharge. The mech could only smile as he wandered into the main room. Ratchet and Bumblebee were at the monitors while Optimus was seated in a corner, reading a datapad.

“What hour is it?”

“Good morning to you as well, Magnus. It’s not too late, it’s only half past ten,” Ratchet replied, turning and smiling at the carrying mech. He whipped the scanner out of his subspace and waved it over Magnus’s frame. The medic displayed a live feed of the sparkling on the wrist holograph, showing the little femme suspended completely upside down. She was recharging, as Magnus could already tell, and she was opening and closing her servos in her sleep. He wondered if she’d be doing the same thing outside of his frame.

“The little one is fine, as usual. Shouldn’t be more than a week until the sparkling arrives.”

Magnus only smiled, but that little bit of happiness was quickly cut off when Bumblebee beeped furiously at them, looking at them with widened optics.

“What is it, Bumblebee?” Ratchet asked, storing the wand in his subspace.

_Beeeeeeeeep! Beep-beep!_

“Wheeljack WHAT?!”

At the mention of the sire of his sparkling, Magnus looked up and watched with rapt attention as a communication link with Wheeljack was opened on the screen, along with a map that showed his location, somewhere ten miles from the base. In a gorge. And surrounded by Decepticons.

“Was Wheeljack rostered for patrol?” Magnus asked, but his question went unheard as Ratchet shouted, “And what made you take the children out?!”

“They wanted to go out, doc! Who was I to deny them?!

“AND YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED UNTIL IT WAS YOUR TIME TO PATROL WHEN YOU WOULD HAVE HAD BACKUP?!!!”

“Miko didn’t.”

Ratchet sighed and pressed his servo to his optics. “Wheeljack, keep the kids safe and start driving to the south on the expressway. I’ll be opening a ground bridge along the way and you better get back here or so help me Primus-”

“Yeah, just hurry up before Miko tries to jump out and take a picture.”

Magnus was furious and didn’t speak a word until the ground bridge opened and Wheeljack, followed by Smokescreen, Arcee, and Bulkhead, entered the base. Wheeljack’s doors opened and the three kids spilled out, Jack and Raf looking shaken, and Miko looking like she’d just won a million credits.

“That. Was. AWESOME.”

“For you,” Jack mumbled. Bulkhead stepped forward and picked Miko up in his servo, placing her on his shoulder strut.

“Well, she enjoyed herself, so I guess it wasn’t all too bad, huh?” Wheeljack quipped, rubbing at scorch marks on his armor where the Decepticon drones had hit him.

Magnus growled. Everyone looked at him, but he only glared at Wheeljack. The shorter Wrecker looked stupefied as the Commander of the Wreckers stepped forward and hissed, “How is it possible that you can be so _inconsiderate_ of the welfare of others?”

The other Autobots and the humans could do nothing more than stand there awkwardly as Wheeljack replied, “Hey, no one got killed. I’d say that’s a plus.”

“You put them out in danger. How could you think that it is right to endanger the human children that have no possible way to defend themselves?!”

Wheeljack thinned his lipplates and his optics dimmed in anger. “Y’know, if I were really as inconsiderate as you say I am, I would’ve left you and the kid,” he nodded to the very obvious curve of the Wrecker Commander’s midsection, “and hit the road by myself a long time ago. Know what? I still consider it.”

A very gravid silence followed Wheeljack’s confession. They all expected a repeat of Magnus’s reaction when he discovered he was carrying, and braced to pounce if Magnus attacked the sire of his sparkling. Instead, the Commander of the Wreckers only set his lipplates in a straight line. He crossed his arms over his chassis and murmured, “Perhaps you should.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened. His faceplates were expressionless, but those that knew him well enough, especially Bulkhead, could see that he was hurt, and the look only intensified as Magnus continued, “After all, if you can’t be trusted with the safety and welfare of the human children, how can I expect to trust you with the safety and welfare of our own sparkling?”

It was so tense that not even the Star Saber could cut through it. The silence seemed to go on for an eternity before the white-armored Wrecker blinked his optics and nodded, turning on his pedes and walking to the entrance of the base that led outside.

“Jackie, what are you doing?” Bulkhead asked, a bit panicked and stepping forward as he reached up to steady Miko on his shoulder strut.

“Doing something I should’ve done weeks ago,” Wheeljack stated before taking on his vehicular mode, revving his engine, and speeding out of the base.

Everyone looked at the trail of dirt and dust that Wheeljack had left behind. Bulkhead sighed in frustration and slapped his servo over his optics, thinking _Again, and now, Jackie?_ to himself. Arcee crossed her arms over her chassis and shifted on her pedes. Ratchet and Optimus only looked at each other, an action repeated by Smokescreen and Bumblebee. She was the first to look over at Magnus at the other end of the room, followed by everyone else.

They had all expected Magnus to be even more furious. Instead, he only stood there with dimmed optics, servos clenching and unclenching. He closed his optics and sighed. “I had expected this from the beginning,” Magnus dully noted to everyone around him, placing his servo over the swell of his abdominal plating. “I did not think it would take this amount of time for him to up and leave, however.”

With that, he turned around and retreated back to his quarters. No one else saw him for the rest of the solar cycle.


	6. Apologize

The day passed by and turned into night all before his optics.

He’d holed himself up in a cavern, facing the entrance and watching as the sky brightened, then dimmed until it became a dark, dark blue with little stars peeking through the fabric of night. He couldn’t remember much other than that. Wheeljack was pretty sure he’d forgotten to blink as well.

He should have known better than to say something like that to the Commander of the Wreckers, the carrier of his child. The mech raised his servos to his optics, closing them and pressing his palms against the optic lids. This was a trying time for both him and Ultra Magnus. He was adjusting to the idea of being a sire, having a little life to take care of. A life that would completely and totally depend on him and Magnus.

Now that he thought of everything again, what he’d said out of his aft, Magnus had to have been having a hard time adjusting to his condition, and the new role he’d have to play. That of carrier. He would have to be a warrior, a fighter, and also have to nurture and raise a little life.

Wheeljack could skip out anytime he wanted to and no one would really question it. If Magnus tried doing the same he’d be demonized, damned to spend eternity with Unicron.

This sparkling had a thrown a wrench into everyone’s plans.

It’d forever tie him to his commander, whether he liked it or not.

Wheeljack emerged from the cavern, optics dimming and adjusting to the lack of sunlight. The stars twinkled above him, and it was a moonless night. He thinned his lipplates and thought back to that night, the conversation he and the other mech had had. He told Magnus that he wouldn’t leave him in the dust. Wreckers didn’t abandon their own.

He wasn’t about to start.

.-.-.

Everyone was gone from the main areas of their building by the time he returned. Given the hour of night he was fairly sure they were deep in recharge. Wheeljack sighed as he made his way down the corridor that led to Magnus’s quarters. He stood in front of the entrance, the doors staring him down. He sighed and tapped the code in. he was surprised that Magnus hadn’t changed it yet.

Ultra Magnus was still awake. A pair of startled blue optics met his, then darkened. Wheeljack marveled at the fact that he was managing to keep his anger down. The white-armored mech slowly made his way over to the Wrecker Commander’s berth, stepping carefully and keeping on the tips of his pedes just in case the carrier of his sparkling decided to lash out.

He was very surprised when Magnus didn’t. The mech still had a look in his optics that read upset.

“You came back.” A statement relayed in a tone that Wheeljack wasn’t sure about. Was it angry, happy, or neutral? He hoped neutral, at least. Happy would have been really scary to see on this mech, much more frightening than anger.

“Yeah,” Wheeljack answered cautiously, the right corner of his lipplates twitching upward for a few moments. “I figured it’d be best for us and that I’d better apologize.”

Silence. After a minute of it Magnus’s lipplates twisted into a… was that a scowl?

Wheeljack drew air into his intakes, closing his optics and venting a deep sigh before reopening them, blue optics meeting those of his commander. “I’m sorry. ‘bout what I said.”

Magnus’s scowl slacked off his faceplates. He tilted his helm slightly, a cue for him to continue.

“And,” Wheeljack sighed and continued, “I will be a lot more responsible with the sparkling than I was with the human kids today.”

“Not just with our sparkling, but with the kids as well. Starting from now on.”

“You got it.” Wheeljack raised his servos in a gesture of compliance. “From now on.”

Magnus’s optics darkened slightly as he glared at the mech for a few moments. He watched with reproachful optics as Wheeljack stood right next to his berth. Both mechs stared at each other, Magnus hostile and Wheeljack solemn.

“Well?”

“Waiting for you to tell me to get out.”

For a moment, Magnus considered it. Then he decided against it.

Before Wheeljack knew it Magnus tugged him towards him, onto the berth, and captured his lips with his own. Wheeljack tried to rear back, but Magnus’s grip on him was strong. He managed to free himself, but only to properly position himself above Magnus’s frame so the sparkling wasn’t in the way. Their lipplates met, tension melting off their frames.

Wheeljack’s interfacing panel retracted, revealing his erect spike. That was a first. It normally took him, his servo wrapped around the length, to get it to that state. Magnus reached between them, grasping the other mech’s spike in his servo and thumbing the tip. Wheeljack shuddered.

“If we’re gonna...” he trailed off, voice growing raspy as he continued, “can’t do it like this. Don’t want to fall and end up hurting...” he went quiet again and gestured to the swell of Magnus’s abdomen. The Commander of the Wreckers kissed him again and nodded in understanding before he twisted in the berth, on his side. Wheeljack got the message, settling behind the other mech, his front to his backplates. He took his spike in a servo and guided it to the carrying mech’s interfacing panel, rubbing the tip over the metal until Magnus sent the command for it to open.

Magnus hooked his leg around Wheeljack’s hip and wriggled in the other mech’s grasp, emitting choked moans as Wheeljack thrust his hips upward, their interface arrays becoming slicked with lubricants. Normally Magnus would demand that Wheeljack slow down his pace to minimize the mess they were making, but he decided against it for now, allowing his berth to become dirty. He threw his helm back onto Wheeljack’s shoulder and moaned, closing his optics. One of Wheeljack’s servos removed itself from his chassis and swept lower, caressing the curve of his abdominal plating.

“Wheeljack,” Magnus gasped, startled at the sensation of a foreign servo caressing his abdomen. His sparkling. Wheeljack only planted a kiss to his commander’s neck and murmured, “Sorry.” A breath against his neck cables, a plea, a prayer. “I’m sorry. I just needed to feel. Just needed to feel, at least once.”

 _Right,_ Magnus remembered. He’d never let Wheeljack feel for their sparkling. He felt best when he could control what anyone tried to do with his frame. It had never occurred to him that maybe Wheeljack would want to bond with the little one. He didn’t have time to feel bad, however, as Wheeljack increased the tempo of his thrusting, panting and holding onto Magnus’s thigh with one servo, keeping the leg over his hip.

He moved the other servo from Magnus’s midsection and raised it back to the broad chassis, moving his helm from the other mech’s neck and burying it in his backplates. Magnus was groaning and panting wildly as he moved his hips with Wheeljack’s, meeting him thrust for thrust. Pleasure shot through his neural net, and his helm snapped back onto Wheeljack’s shoulder as overload swept through him, groaning as he rode it out.

A few thrusts later, Wheeljack groaned into the carrying mech’s backplating and tightened his grip on his thigh and chassis as his transfluid flooded Magnus’s valve.

The transfluid that hadn’t made its way up to the carrying mech’s gestation chamber trickled out of his valve when Wheeljack removed his spike, the liquid dribbling onto Magnus’s inner thigh and trickling down to the berth. Magnus shivered at the sensation, but didn’t verbalize anything, instead reaching down and closing his interfacing panel. He would clean up the sticky mess later.

Both mechs lay in silence for a long while, Wheeljack wiping off fluids from his spike and thighs. Not all of it came off, and the smaller mech decided he’d just leave it to clean off later, closing the panel over his now-limp spike. The only sounds in the room were those of their engines working to cool their frames down. After a few moments, Wheeljack slid off the berth, getting to his pedes, and said, “I figure I better be going now.”

Magnus didn’t open his mouth to speak, only giving a noise that sounded like a hum of assent. His back was to Wheeljack. The white-armored mech looked at Magnus’s frame on the berth for a moment before he turned around, heading for the doors. Magnus closed his optics and tried to drift off to sleep.

The sparkling kicked. And kicked.

Magnus let out a groan of frustration, placing his servo over the swell of his abdominal plating and sighing in exasperation. In these past weeks carrying, that the sparkling had grown to the point where he could feel everything she did, he had yet to get a decent night’s recharge. She would kick and flail and squirm throughout the night, when he was supposed to be asleep. When time came for him to get up, she would go still, go into recharge herself he assumed.

“You alright there?”

“I am fine. The sparking, however, takes pleasure in kicking my internals when we both should be in recharge.”

“Ah, well, if it’s not too bad…” Wheeljack trailed off after that, stalling in his stride over to the doors before picking up again.

Magnus closed his optics and the sparkling resumed kicking again.

Then he realized it.

She’d stopped when Wheeljack spoke.

He put two and two together just as the doors slid open for the other mech. Magnus turned his helm and called “Wheeljack.” The other Wrecker stopped and turned around as Magnus held a servo out towards him, sitting up on the berth.

“Yeah?”

Magnus closed his optics. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “It would seem that the sparkling is kicking me because they’re seeking your presence. I notice they only kick when you are not around.”

Wheeljack arched an optic ridge. “You going to ask-”

“This is the sparkling talking, Wheeljack. But I would greatly appreciate it if you spent your recharge cycle here. If only so I may finally get a decent, uninterrupted recharge.”

It took all of Wheeljack’s willpower to not sound and act like an over-eager sparkling as he strode over to Magnus’s berth again and slid in beside the Wrecker Commander.

The fit was odd at first. The berth was barely large enough to hold them both, side by side. Magnus eventually found a way, curling up on his side and drawing his legs in towards him. Wheeljack curled into him, trying his hardest to not look at the other mech in the optics.

Soon enough Magnus’s optics closed and his systems powered down for recharge. Not once had the sparkling kicked or punched. Wheeljack’s optics were still open, wide awake, as he looked at the curvature of his commander’s midsection just below him. Slowly, he inched his servo through the air towards the swell, placing the tips of his digits first on the distended midsection before carefully splaying his servo on the abdomen. Under his servos sensors, the sparkling moved slowly, contentedly. Or so he hoped. The shine in the mech’s optics softened.

"Hey kiddo. It's me here. Your sire.” Wheeljack took a deep breath. “Just wanted to apologize for all that stuff I said earlier. And just know that I don't regret you. Your carrier may drive me up the wall most of the time, and I know I drive him nuts too. But I don't regret you.” Wheeljack cast his optics upward, looking at the peaceful faceplates of his sparkling’s carrier. He grinned and his optics dimmed as he murmured, “And I’m sure your carrier doesn’t either."

The sparkling stopped squirming under his touch, going still. He was about to remove his servo from the curvature of other mech’s midsection when he felt a slight pressure against his hand. He narrowed his optics in concentration, and his grin grew even wider when he realized what it was. The sparkling sought his touch, touching his or her servos with his through the layers of metal and protoform that separated Sire and sparkling. Wheeljack closed his optics. Quite possibly the most surreal moment of his life. A life he helped to create reaching out for him.

Surreal. And beautiful.

“You’ll be out soon, kiddo. Just hang in there.”

Above him, Magnus heard it all. And he couldn’t help the brief, small, but genuine grin that crossed his faceplates.


	7. Ready

“This area has mostly been overlooked by the Decepticons in all their adventurousness,” Ratchet said, tapping in the coordinates for a small range of mountains, covered in thick forest and brush, and far from civilization. “I will send you guys to a flat area. It’d be in your best interests to stay put, just in case of anything, but,” the medic turned and gave Magnus a look, optics briefly darting down to the curve of the Wrecker Commander’s midsection, “I know the sparkling has been active of late and it’d be better for the little one if you got some walking done.”

“Don’t worry doc,” Wheeljack lightly thumped Ratchet on his backplates, earning him a low growl from the medic. “I’ll be sure and take good care of both Magnus and the kiddo here.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I will still be keeping track of your spark signatures, and the communication lines are open in case of anything.” Ratchet activated the ground bridge and waved the two Wreckers through. “Be nice to each other and enjoy your time outside the base!” he called through the portal, chuckling to himself.

.-.-.

Wheeljack was happiest being in a non-confined space. This openness of the forest and mountains made him want to run and drive around, act like a little youngling, but then he looked back at Magnus hesitantly trailing behind him, servo protectively cupping the swell of his abdominal plating and looking at everything with suspicion, as if he expected something to pop out of the brush. Wheeljack reined in those desires and slowed his pace of walk, allowing Magnus to catch up to him.

“Where are we, exactly?”

“Appalachian Mountains, at the other end of the country. Pretty, huh?” Wheeljack gestured to the environment before him, the trees and sloping peaks. He knew that a little bit further would be a shimmering blue lake that looked like the most delicious energon. Magnus only thinned his lipplates skeptically and replied, “It holds no contest against the Manganese Mountains of Cybertron, and the Energon Falls that were once there.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Magnus’s intakes hitched a few minutes into their quiet, awkward walk. He twisted his faceplates into a pained expression and he placed a servo to his lower backstrut.

“You alright?”

“I am fine. The sparkling, however, is taking a toll on my frame.” Magnus looked over at Wheeljack. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to stop here.”

“Your choice,” Wheeljack stated, waiting for Magnus to sit down with his back to a tree before he did the same, choosing a tree just across from Magnus. Both pines were spaced wide enough apart that they could stretch their legs and their pedes would _just_ touch each other.

Both mechs sat in equally uncomfortable silence for a while. Wheeljack kept his optics averted from Magnus, looking forward and occasionally sneaking glances at the carrier of their sparkling. Magnus had his optics closed and his helm tilted back, resting on the trunk of the tree with both of his servos twined together and resting over the bump of his abdominal plating.

“So, looking forward to meeting our kiddo?”

Magnus opened his optics. A week ago he would have scoffed at him and growled angrily, but this time the Commander of the Wreckers only raised an optic ridge in curiosity. “Of course I am. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Okay, I was just askin’ that’s all,” Wheeljack chuckled lightly, a bit awkwardly, and raised his servos up in a surrendering motion. “No need to get upset.”

“I am not upset, I merely…nevermind.” Magnus turned and looked away, off in the same direction that Wheeljack had been staring at. “Have you thought of any designations?”

“None that you’d like.”

“I will give them a chance.”

“For a mech, Ironfist or Roadbuster.” Wheeljack saw Magnus’s faceplates twist in slight disgust, and then quickly followed up with, “For a femme, I only thought of Chaser.”

“Hmm. Only?”

“It was my sire’s name. My carrier was a mech, named Steelbolt. Didn’t…didn’t really have a good relationship with him. Wasn’t much better with my sire.”

Magnus looked at Wheeljack again, narrowing his optics curiously. “If you don’t mind my inquiry, why were your relationships with your creators…abysmal?”

“Well,” Wheeljack rolled his shoulders and thinned his lipplates, “for one, I wasn’t exactly planned. Or wanted. They already had four other sparklings, and my carrier was the only one working when he found out he was sparked. Sire had been laid off for a while, and she was struggling to find work, even at the docks at the Hydrax Plateau spaceport, where they’d take anyone at anytime.”

“I’m aware,” Magnus muttered with a hint of bitterness in his tone, but Wheeljack continued, “Carrier worked doing construction and maintaining the upkeep of Stanix’s buildings, where we lived. When he told his superiors he was sparked he was laid off too. What use is a laborer when they’re sparked and can’t carry the heavy stuff?” Wheeljack gave a bitter laugh. “So they had trouble stretching their energon, not to mention carrier had to get a little more ‘cause…well, he was carrying.” He sighed and closed his optics. “By the time they managed to get enough credits to go to a clinic and ask for a termination, carrier was past the allowed time.”

“If your carrier decided to have you there and then, you would have survived?”

“Not without a lot of medical attention, but yeah, I’d be able to live.”

“So what did your creators do?”

“What could they do?” Wheeljack shrugged. “Little later I was born, taken home, and suffered knowing I was the outcast of the family for fifteen stellar cycles. My three brothers got into fights at school, and sire and carrier only grounded them and took away their toys. My sister sparked up when she was only fifteen stellar cycles, five stellar cycles from being fully mature, and they didn’t do anything but hand over a few credits for her to go to the clinic and get it taken care of. I got so much as a mediocre mark on my exams at school and sire would beat me halfway to stasis lock while carrier only watched.”

Magnus furrowed his optic ridges, looking at the mech before him. All of that, he’d gone through. Primus.

“Any excuse they had to treat me like slag, they took it. Occasionally sire would be a little nice and give me enough energon, but other than that…and carrier never acknowledged that I was there. The moment I turned fifteen, hit that phase between younglinghood and maturity at twenty, they kicked me out of the house and locked me out. Not that I would’ve tried to go back in, anyway. So,” Wheeljack grabbed a rock that had been sitting beside him and threw it forth, “struck out on my own, did odd jobs, and then when the war started I volunteered to be a Wrecker. Finally found my family, people that accepted me for me.”

“Until I came into the fold.”

Wheeljack tensed up at Magnus’s comment. The carrying mech sounded…downtrodden. Wheeljack closed his optics and then reopened them. “No. I left ‘cause you drove me insane, drove me up the wall. All the time. But other than that, I still kept in touch with everyone. They all cared for me like I was family still, even though I’d left. So no,” Wheeljack turned and smiled at Magnus, who in turn gave him a small grin, “you didn’t affect any of that. That sense that I’d finally found some others willing to accept me.”

Quiet, a lot less awkward than before, settled between them for a few minutes until Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer and said, “Well, that’s a bit of my life story. Your turn.”

Magnus thinned his lipplates and closed his optics, gently caressing the curve of his abdomen. “I was the only sparkling of two femmes. I assume when I was much younger, at an age where memories don’t stay forever, they must have loved me and each other. But as I aged, I saw them fight. Every night. My sire worked at the Hydrax Spaceport, the same place your sire tried to find work. I spent my childhood in the slums of Tagan Heights watching them fight over sire always squandering her pay and coming back home with whorebots. If there are any memories of them being happy and paying attention to me, they’re lost.” Magnus sighed and reopened his optics. “The only sounds I knew and could mimic for the first six stellar cycles of my life were yelling and garbled, drunkard speech. I did not learn to speak until I was six.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I were.” The sparkling kicked at his servo, and Magnus looked down, rubbing over the spot where the little one had pounded at him. “My creators didn’t enroll me even in the free academies, so I was left to fend for myself. I began escaping home and wandering around, into marketplaces, and picked up the ability to speak there. I finally left home when I turned fourteen stellar cycles. I was only a stellar cycle younger then you when I…how did you say it? “Struck out on my own”?”

Wheeljack nodded. He’d never seen this side, heard this of and from Magnus.

“I worked my way up into the position I am now. From the slums to the commander of the Wreckers.” Magnus smiled forlornly. He looked up and into Wheeljack’s optics. “Did you ever… learn the fate of your family? Your carriers, your siblings?”

“Little after you took control of the Wreckers I felt all six of their sparks extinguish. Moment I did we were dispatched to Stanix to rescue anyone that survived the Decepticon ambush and there was nothing left of where I knew they’d all lived.” Wheeljack sighed as he remembered that day, standing at the four-way intersection looking at the corner lot where he’d endured the Pit. Smoke and the smell of death, melting armor and protoform, tinged the air. For a moment he smelled it again. “What about you?”

“I heard of an accident at the docks a few stellar cycles after I left. I was working at an industrial factory, making spare armor parts for the higher castes when the news flashed onto the wall. Just prior I had felt a dull ache in my spark. Not using your bond with family strains it so you don’t feel the full force of the pain when their spark extinguishes, but I felt it. During the evacuation of Cybertron, many many stellar cycles later,” Magnus’s optics dimmed, “I felt carrier’s spark go. I don’t know what the cause was. And frankly, I don’t want to.” He closed his optics and rubbed his servo over the swelling of his abdomen again. The sparkling moved and thumped her servos against his own.

“Heh. Seems like we’ve got a lot in common that we didn’t even know.” Wheeljack placed his servos behind his head, on the tree trunk, and leaned back, giving Magnus a half-grin. A moment later he stood up and sat next to Magnus. “Before this, all we really had in common were being Wreckers, getting on each other’s neural nets, and being surprised by this sparkling.”

Magnus shot the other Wrecker a small grin, and he didn’t even flinch when the white-armored mech gently placed a servo over the swell of his midsection, feeling the little femme fluttering underneath their touches.

.-.-.

Ratchet was the only one still awake when they returned from their little outing, and right after the ground bridge closed behind them the medic yawned and mumbled something about going to recharge. Thankfully it left the both of them to retire to Magnus’s quarters without any questions or strange looks.

The moment they’d stepped through the doors and they’d shut behind them, Magnus tugged Wheeljack toward the berth again, which was where they currently were, Magnus moaning the other mech’s name, slowly tilting his helm back and optics fluttering closed as the hard, hungry press of a glossa at the rim of his valve stimulated his sensors. His hips arched into the sensation. He felt Wheeljack smirk against his valve as the smaller mech continued his ministrations. Wheeljack slipped his servos underneath his commander’s aft, tilting his hips upward so his glossa dipped further into the slick valve, teasing the sensors lining it.

Magnus’s arms shot out to the edges of the berth and his moans grew louder, he became more _vocal_ , and he wriggled his hips in Wheeljack’s grasp. Wheeljack continued lapping at the walls of the valve, pressing his lips against the rim and humming. The vibrations nearly sent Magnus to overload far earlier than he would have liked to, but then Wheeljack stopped what he was doing, pulling back entirely. The Wrecker commander let out a frustrated groan and slammed his servos on the berth, glaring fire and daggers at Wheeljack.

“Why did you stop?!” he nearly shrieked, his stimulated sensors screaming pain and pleasure at him.

Wheeljack gave the carrying mech a smirk and leaned over Magnus again, one servo dipping between the seams where his thigh met his pelvic plating and toying with the wires underneath and the other circling the rim of his valve. Magnus emitted the most delicious noises, his optics glazing over and his mouth hanging open as his processor fritzed. The Wrecker’s servo surged forward, inserting two digits into the other Wrecker’s valve and scissoring the passage.

Magnus groaned, hips arching and trying to draw the digits further into him, valve clenching around the slick digits erratically. Wheeljack chuckled and pumped the digits in and out, watching with smug satisfaction at the reactions he could elicit from the stoic mech beneath him. “Like that, huh?”

The glare Magnus gave him was all the answer he needed.

Wheeljack removed his digits and opened his interfacing panel, allowing his spike to emerge forth, erect and dribbling. A noise caught his attention, and Wheeljack looked up to see Magnus reaching for his spike. Wheeljack smirked and gently pushed Magnus’s servo away, taking his own spike in his own servo and guiding it to the slick and open valve. The broad head parted the rim and Magnus gave an obscene moan as Wheeljack slowly continued to breach the valve rim, his length becoming coated in Ultra Magnus’s fluids. Keeping the smirk on his faceplates, Wheeljack hooked his arms underneath Magnus’s legs, lifting them so they draped over his shoulders and keeping his arms there to steady them. The new angle afforded Wheeljack the ability to set _all_ of Magnus’s valve sensors aflame.

“Please, _Wheeljack,_ ” Magnus rasped out, helm thunking on the surface of the berth and clenching his servos into fists. _“Please,”_ he begged.

“Yeah?” Wheeljack breathed, smiling down at the mech beneath him. The Commander of the Wreckers. One of the fiercest Autobot warriors. And the carrier and bearer of his sparkling. He moved one servo from Magnus’s legs to splay over the swell of his abdominal plating. The sparkling kicked and moved underneath. “Yeah? What is it you want? Tell me what you want.”

 _“Harder, fraggit,”_ Magnus hissed, moaning and groaning as Wheeljack began thrusting lightly for a few moments. It wasn’t long before he picked up momentum, and Magnus gasped with each thrust against his frame. He closed his optics and tensed up as he felt overload coming.

Moments before it came, however, he felt a painful cramp, cables tensing up, in his lower abdomen. It was fleeting, having come and gone within a moment, but Primus it hurt. He cried out in shock, optics opening wide as Wheeljack stopped thrusting and looked at him with worry.

“Did I hurt-”

At that moment the cramp came back and didn’t go away quickly. Magnus’s intakes hitched and he unceremoniously nudged Wheeljack away from him, nearly sending him toppling off the berth, and curled into himself, gasping and venting harshly with the pain.

“Magnus?”

“Wheeljack,” Magnus gasped, clenching his dentae and servos, squeezing his optics shut and fighting down the urge to cry. “I think the sparkling is ready to come.”


	8. Perfect

It was half past midnight when Ratchet was awakened by the sound of his communication link pinging urgently at him. The medic opened his optics and groaned before closing them again.

::Magnus, for the _fifth time,_ it is perfectly natural for the sparkling to be very active and kicking at all hours, especially since it is so close to the birth::

::Not Magnus, but you’re kinda close there doc::

::Wheeljack?:: Ratchet shot up in his berth and blinked his optics, trying to clear away the sleepiness in his processor. ::One, don’t call me doc, and two, what happened?::

::Magnus is curled on the berth and crying. He’s saying the sparkling’s coming::

Ratchet could hear the nervousness in the Wrecker’s voice. He rolled off his berth and got to his pedes as he said ::Okay, Wheeljack, listen to me. Get Magnus to his pedes and take him to the medical bay. I’m heading over there right now. Don’t aggravate him, and let him yell or scream at you:: The medic couldn’t help the wry grin that passed over his faceplates. ::If there’s anything you need to learn now, it’s give the carrier everything they want::

::Uh, gotcha::

.-.-.

Wheeljack quickly terminated the link as he heard Magnus moan in pain. He rushed over to the carrying mech’s berth and offered a servo to him, expecting Magnus to grab it and help himself up.

He hadn’t expected for the blue mech to seize it with both servos and nearly crush it in a death grip as he arched his back and panted harshly through the pain. Wheeljack almost said something, but then decided it’d be best to say nothing. He closed his optics and grimaced briefly before he reopened them and placed his free servo on Magnus’s arm, patting the armor and murmuring, “Just hang in there. You’ll be fine, Magnus.”

In response Magnus vented a harsh breath as the spasm subsided. He opened his optics, wide and yet dim, and looked up wearily at the other mech. Wheeljack moved his servo and held it out to Magnus. The blue mech sighed and loosened his grip on Wheeljack’s other servo, moving one of his to hold onto the white mech’s other hand.

“C’mon, get up,” Wheeljack murmured, helping the carrier to his pedes. “Ratchet’s getting to the medbay already.”

.-.-.

Magnus heard Wheeljack, but the words didn’t seem to sink in entirely. Heavy pants escaped past his lipplates as the pain coursed through his frame again. He was unable to think properly, all forms of thought having left him as his systems cycled over to one thing, and one thing only: _protect the sparkling and deliver her safely._

He heard Ratchet’s voice come in, and before he knew it he was laying on a medical berth, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to scream as the contraction spread to every bit of his frame. Magnus gasped and arched his back as the spasm peaked, one servo curled around the swell of his abdominal plating and the other reaching for someone (Wheeljack, preferably) to hold onto. A servo grabbed onto his, and gave his servo a gentle squeeze. Magnus choked as the contraction ebbed away, and he finally found his voice. “Primus, this hurts.”

“It always does,” Ratchet said from his point across the room, where he was busy setting up a small table complete with some cleaning cloths laid out and a small bin of cleansing liquid. “But you’re not the first to go through this, and you won’t be the last. You’ll survive.”

Magnus was too exhausted to tell the medic anything. Wheeljack smiled down at the mech and gave his servo another gentle squeeze.

It was going to be a long night.

.-.-.

“You’re at thirty percent dialation. The sparkling’s helm is already at position, but,” Ratchet stored the scanner in his subspace and sighed, “as it tends to be with first births, progress can be a bit slow.”

Magnus groaned in frustration and closed his optics. The pain was coming a lot quicker, and the spasms were lasting longer. Before it had lasted only a few moments. Now they were lasting half a minute. And he knew it was only going to get worse from here. The sparkling moved and twisted within the gestation chamber. Tiny servos pressed insistently against the walls.

_Hold on, little one. I want you out as much as you do._

Agony reared its helm again, and Magnus choked, his legs stiffening and his servos clutching Wheeljack’s own with a vise-like grip. A small part of him felt guilty for doing this to the sire of his child, but the larger part of him only screamed pain at him.

.-.-.

It was four AM. And Magnus was at sixty percent.

Wheeljack sat next to the berth on an offered seat, gently stroking Magnus’s forehelm with his free servo, the other one still clasped between Magnus’s hands. The Commander of the Wreckers had his optics closed, trying his best to recharge through the still-coming contractions. Magnus’s optics covers fluttered every few moments, and when the pain hit him his faceplates would contort in agony and he would nearly rip Wheeljack’s arm off.

::Jackie?::

::Yeah Bulk?::

::Miko keeps bugging so I’m gonna ask: has the sparkling come yet?::

Wheeljack’s lipplates twitched into a half-grin for a moment, and he thumbed the piece of helm armor that jutted out between Magnus’s optics. ::No, not for a while longer:: He could almost hear Miko groan in frustration as Bulkhead replied ::She says for you to tell the sparkling to hurry up::

::I would if that would do anything, trust me. Don’t think anyone wants the kiddo out more than Magnus. Just gonna have to wait::

This time he _did_ hear Miko groan from Bulkhead’s end of the communication link.

::She’s not happy::

::And neither is Magnus:: Wheeljack chuckled to himself. A moment later Magnus hissed and nearly crushed his servo, holding onto it as if it were his lifeline. ::Get back to you later Bulk, Magnus is in pain::. The Wrecker shut off the communication link and lifted himself to the berth, holding Magnus to his frame, gently murmuring and coaching the carrying mech through the pain.

“You’re doin’ great, just keep at it,” Wheeljack said as the agony subsided from Magnus’s frame. The blue mech opened his optics and huffed in frustration, lowering a servo to cradle the swell of his abdomen. The sparkling moved and kicked. She certainly didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

Magnus wished she was.

“Just a little longer, hopefully,” Wheeljack said, moving his servo from Magnus’s faceplates and placing it on the other mech’s arm in a gesture of comfort. “Just a little longer and we’ll be holding our kiddo.”

“I’m not sure how much longer I can take of this,” Magnus rasped, optics wide and bleary, frame weak and limp. He closed his optics again and his intakes shuddered. “I thought I had already endured pain worse than the Pit in battle before. At the Battle of Darkmount Pass. Do you remember?”

“My one-grenade tactic. Taking out an entire fleet of ‘cons.” Wheeljack smiled at the memory. “How could I forget?”

“Do you remember how the Decepticons had shot at me before you managed to take them out?”

“Again, how could I forget? You were yelling for me to stop and retreat.”

“Yes,” Magnus shifted uncomfortably, chuckling for a moment. “There was a hole in the center of my chassis, near my spark, and my left arm and legs were dangling by wires and circuitry.” His optics dimmed and his faceplates were devoid of expression as he looked up at the ceiling. “The agony then is inconsequential in the face of this. Emergence.”

Both mechs sat in silence for a while. Ratchet was in the other room of the medical bay, leaning against the wall with his optics dimmed. Both Wreckers could hear his systems occasionally powering up, and he’d look over at them for a few moments before determining that everything was fine for now, then he’d go back into a very light recharge.

“Never did ask you,” Wheeljack shifted on the berth so his legs were underneath him, “did you come up with any names for the kiddo?”

Magnus had. Only for femmes. Wheeljack still didn’t know that the sparkling was a femme, so he had only considered designations fit for a femme. His spark was set on one in particular, but he decided to leave it out for now. “My carrier and sire’s designations were Sparkflare and Nioba, respectively. For a mech…I only thought of Chromium and Pantheon.”

Wheeljack blinked in thought, and then ran a servo over Magnus’s arm. “We’ll see when the kiddo gets here.”

.-.-.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

Magnus _screamed_ as the pressure against his valve became pure fire. His frame trembled. “Ratchet, what is happening?!” he nearly shrieked, one servo crushing Wheeljack’s servo into scrap and the other putting dents in the edge of the berth.

The medic leaned down and activated the zooming function in his optics. The birthing channel was already dilated to a full hundred percent. The sparkling’s helm pressed against the top of the canal.

“You’re ready Magnus. When the next one hits, push with everything that you’ve got.”

The Commander of the Wreckers gasped over and over again, desperately drawing air into his intakes, as he turned to the white-armored mech and hissed, “You are being dishonorably discharged from the Wreckers as soon as this is over.” A moment later he yelled. Obeying Ratchet’s orders, Magnus threw his helm back and roared as he pushed down, feeling the sparkling move ever so slowly.

“Brace yourself Magnus,” Ratchet retrieved a small container of lubricant from his subspace and gently dabbed it around the rim of Magnus’s valve, inserting two digits and stretching the valve. “Keep pushing, keep pushing.”

Wheeljack quickly took a look at Magnus’s lower frame, and nearly regretted it. He quickly turned away and stroked Magnus’s helm, murmuring to him in encouragement.

Magnus bellowed in Wheeljack’s audios as Ratchet stretched his valve rim with his digits, trying to assist the sparkling in her exit. The medic’s other servo moved into place to cradle the sparkling’s helm, which slowly made its way out. He gently cradled her helm in one servo and helped her shoulders free. With one last push and a strangled shout, the sparkling slipped from Magnus’s frame, immediately followed by a gush of fluids and wires that had kept her safe and alive in her carrier’s frame. Magnus choked and his helm fell to the side as he gasped out loud, drawing air into his intakes, optics widened. She was out. She was free.

Wheeljack looked down at the tiny frame, dripping fluids and slippery and very wet, in Ratchet’s silver servos. Limbs jerking awkwardly, optics scrunched shut against the blinding lights, trying to curl into itself. Primus above.

“Wha…what is it?” Wheeljack asked, not sure if he was even saying the correct words. His optics were widened at the sight of the little being he and Magnus had created.

Ratchet got to his pedes and rushed over to the cleaning table he had set up, laying the sparkling on a sheet to clean the little one off. “Primus,” the medic laughed as he wiped the sparkling’s frame down, revealing the colorful armor beneath, “aren’t you beautiful?”

In response, the sparkling found their voice, and began wailing. Arms stretched into the air, tiny servos opening and closing. Tiny legs kicked.

At the sound of the little sparkling crying, the little being he had carried, Magnus lifted his helm and looked at the little femme on the cleaning table. Primus. She was so beautiful.

When Ratchet was done cleaning off the sparkling, he coaxed the little one’s chassis plates open, making sure to turn and look at Wheeljack’s astounded expression when golden light shone through. “You’ve both got a little femme.”

The sparkling’s cries subsided to soft whimpers and she opened her optics. Bright blue. Optics exactly like Wheeljack’s, with the exact same design within. Tiny silver servos designed just like Magnus’s opened and closed. Her legs kicked and flailed, all the while her optics stared in confusion at the mech holding her. Ratchet felt her EM field envelop him, mingle with his, searching for any sign that this may have been her carrier or sire. She felt none, as was obvious to him, and by the look in her optics that clearly said _Who are you and what have you done with my carrier?_

“Here she is,” Ratchet proudly announced, loosely tucking a warming blanket around the femmeling and handing her over to a stunned Wheeljack. “Your little femme. Good job you both. She’s going to be quite the spark breaker.”

Wheeljack looked down at optics that mirrored his exactly. His mouth was left hanging slightly open as he took in her features. Primus, she was beautiful. _She. Her. A femme._ She was Ultra Magnus in miniature, down to the shoulder stacks and helm design and the lights on her silver midsection. The only features that were not Magnus’s were his optics and the fins at the sides of her helm that had yet to fully emerge.

The little femme stared dully at the mech now holding her. A servo curled against her chassis, and she enveloped her fields with his. When something clicked, her optics brightened. This was Sire.

Magnus was laying down, exhausted, trying to regain the strength that birth had taken from him. The top half of the berth was raised up, tilted to a small angle so he was half-way sitting up. But when he heard his sparkling’s chirps, he mustered the strength to look over at the squirming bundle in Wheeljack’s arms. Tiny servos waved in the air.

“Wheeljack,” the mech rasped out, arm shaking as he lifted it up to reach for the sparkling. The white-armored Wrecker looked up, and didn’t need any further instruction. Wheeljack passed a gentle servo over his daughter’s helm ( _Primus, I got a daughter now_ ) before gently laying her on Ultra Magnus’s chassis.

The sparkling squirmed as she was taken from her Sire and placed on someone else’s frame. Her tiny servos found support on the chassis of this being now holding her, and she felt a gentle servo cup her frame towards…wait, she knew that spark. She knew it. The familiar rhythm.

She looked up at the same time she mingled her EM field with that of this mech holding her, and everything fell into place. The sparkling chirred and blinked at him. _This is Carrier_ , her spark told her in a language that only she understood, and that she would forget as time passed on and she aged. _This is Carrier_.

Magnus stared down in shock, his optics wide. Equally wide optics exactly like her sire’s stared back at him. The little one looked so much like him. Primus…she was tiny. Tiny and perfect.

“H-hello there,” he whispered to the little femme moving against his frame. Tiny servos reached out for him as she chirred softly. He had never been one for greetings, so he only blinked. “It would seem you’re stuck with me as your carrier.”

“You did good, sir,” Wheeljack whispered into the other mech’s audio, smiling at him. Magnus looked over at him and mustered the biggest grin possible in his exhausted state. “She’s perfect and she’s beautiful.”

Magnus closed his optics, inhaled deeply, and curled his servos over the little femme, feeling her moving against him. Movement of her legs that she still hadn’t much control over. Her servos opening and closing. Soft chirrs, signs that she wanted his attention. It would take time to remember that she was outside, here, finally given face and form, and not within him. “I would have already offlined you if you had implied otherwise,” he mumbled without a trace of humor.

“I don’t doubt it,” Wheeljack chuckled, the sound attracting the little femme’s attention. She cooed and looked directly at him.

“Did you both come up with a designation for her?” Ratchet swooped in, cleaning the mess of birth from Magnus’s lower frame and off his servos.

“I’d thought of Roadbuster and Ironfist for a mech, but as you can tell,” Wheeljack wiggled a digit in the femmeling’s faceplates, smiling when she reached out to grab at it, “we didn’t get one.”

“Magnus?” Ratchet looked over at the carrier, who had reopened his optics and was smiling down at the sparkling. The Commander of the Wreckers didn’t look up as he responded, “I took some time to learn some ancient stories of this Earth once I learned that the sparkling was a femme, and came across a mythological figure whose designation I now feel suits this little one best.”

“Which is?”

“Not…not Sparkflare or Nioba, Magnus.”

“No, no.” Magnus gently traced his digit along the sparkling’s cheekplate and thumbed one of her side fins, grinning as she squirmed. “Sparkflare is not a name of a mythological figure on this planet, and Nioba is close to one, but not the one I had in processor.”

“So what is it?”

Magnus looked down, looking the sparkling in her optics. They were beautiful, just like Wheeljack’s. He looked back up, looking Wheeljack in his optics. He hadn’t  noticed them before.

“Athena. The ancient Grecian goddess of strategy, war, and wisdom.”

Athena yawned and stretched her tiny arms out again, seeking attention from either sire or carrier.

“Heh,” Wheeljack leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to her forehelm. “It suits her.”


	9. Athena

The medic was exhausted, and he would have immediately retired to his quarters, but he knew everyone else was gathered in the main room. Sure enough, when he made his way into the gathering area he saw the bright blue optics of everyone else (and the little beady eyes of the human children) peering at him.

“Ratchet? How are Wheeljack, Magnus, and the sparkling?”

The medic looked at the Prime, smiling. “They’re fine. Carrier and child are doing fine.”

“So, was it a mech or femme?” Miko asked from her place on Bulkhead’s shoulder, wiggling in anticipation.

Ratchet transferred his gaze from the Prime to the human girl, and his grin grew even broader. _To tell, or not to tell_ , he mused briefly before deciding what to say. “You all will have to wait. I’m not at liberty to spoil it.”

Everyone groaned out loud, Miko whining. Optimus didn’t, but Ratchet knew that Optimus did so internally.

.-.-.

Almost immediately after giving their daughter her name Magnus had fallen into a deep and much deserved recharge. The little femme had stayed awake for a little while longer, face turned towards her sire’s and tiny chubby servos reaching out for him. Wheeljack had entertained her for a bit by wriggling his digits in front of her, chuckling as she grasped onto them and cooed softly.

She eventually fell into recharge with her carrier, curled up against his spark chamber. Tiny servos opened and closed, and she yawned.

Wheeljack smiled down at her. She was so perfect. And she was theirs. Their kiddo. Not exactly made from love, or whatever confusing feelings there were that remained between him and Magnus, but she had still been made. And she was there. There was no backing out now.

Athena squirmed in her sleep, tiny servos kneading at her carrier’s chassis armor, and she opened her mouth and yawned. Her blue optics flickered open for a brief moment before shutting again. Magnus sighed and cradled her closer.

Wheeljack wondered what their bond was like, now. Carrier and offspring. He’d heard that the bond between a carrier and their offspring, if kept and nurtured right, was unbreakable and strong. The love between a carrier and their offspring was like nothing in the universe, he’d heard.

Primus, he couldn’t believe it, even now after all this. Ultra fragging Magnus. A _carrier._ And him. A bit of a flake, insubordinate, could never keep still in one place for long. A _sire._

The little sparkling curled against Magnus didn’t care, though. To her, Magnus was safety, comfort, love. She didn’t care for his backstory, or her sire’s backstory. She didn’t care that they could _not_ stand each other for very long, a lot of the time. She only cared that they had created her, and that she loved them.

And she hoped they loved her too.

The white-armored mech saw her lightly nuzzle her faceplates into her carrier’s chassis. Tiny servos opened and closed.

::Hey Jackie!::

Wheeljack jolted in his seat, the peaceful moment shattered by his oldest buddy. He composed himself, making sure he hadn’t woken Magnus or Athena, and then responded. ::Hey Bulk, how’s everything going there?::

::Miko’s annoying us all ‘cause Ratch won’t tell us if the sparkling is a mech or a femme. He says that either you or Magnus come out and tell us all::

The Wrecker smiled to himself and slowly reached over to gather the little sparkling in his servos. Athena only stirred slightly, optics fluttering under their covers. ::Magnus ain’t exactly in a condition to walk, Bulk. I’ll be right out there::

He swore he heard the three kids cheer from Bulkhead’s end of the link. Wheeljack shut off the communication and then looked at where his servos were, holding onto Athena. Blue optics that were neither his nor his daughter’s looked back at him reproachfully. The Wrecker grinned and retreated his servos, holding them up in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t panic. The others wanna see her.”

The look in Magnus’s optics softened slightly, but he still held onto the little femme for a few moments longer. He then looked down at her, the little sleeping form on his chassis, and then nodded as he closed his optics to drift off to recharge again. His grip loosened enough for Wheeljack to gently lift the femmeling from her carrier’s chassis and cradle her to his. The blanket that Ratchet had wrapped her in was still wrapped loosely around her tiny frame, so Wheeljack made sure to secure it, tightening it a bit around the little one’s frame. Athena kneaded her servos into the blanket, yawning.

Walking out with his daughter (it would take a while to wrap his processor around that) tucked safely in his arms, Wheeljack entered the main room and felt everyone else’s gazes on him, despite the fact that he wasn’t looking up. Athena was still deep in recharge, one tiny servo curled into a fist and placed near her helm and the other one grasping the blanket.

“Is that-”

Wheeljack nodded before Raf could finish his sentence. “Hey, everyone,” he breathed, his optics still on the little femme recharging, this perfect little being he had helped create. “This is Athena.”

Almost instantly everyone had crowded around him, whispering and talking in hushed tones.

“It’s a femme?!”

“Primus, she’s beautiful!”

“-looks just like Magnus!”

“She’s got your helm fins, Jackie!”

Wheeljack beamed at the compliments. He and Magnus had made a good lookin’ sparkling. And Magnus, Primus, he had been a trooper.

“Who came up with the name Athena?” Miko asked from her place on Bulkhead’s shoulder, nose crinkled up and voice with a tint of disdain. “I was hoping you’d name your kid Metalbuster or Ironfist or something cool like that.”

Wheeljack could tell Bulkhead was resisting the urge to facepalm. “Watch it kiddo,” Wheeljack chuckled, shifting his grip on the sparkling so he cradled her closer to his chassis, “and don’t say that around Magnus. He’s the one that gave her the name. He’s the one that carried her and had her. He’s got every right to name her.”

“Yeah, but…you’re _Wheeljack!_ And he’s _Ultra_ Magnus! You two have cool names. Athena is just…” Miko trailed off, but the disdainful expression on her face didn’t leave.

“Again,” Wheeljack replied, “don’t say that around Magnus.” He smirked at the three children, especially Miko, as he continued, “He won’t take well to that.”

A small noise caught everyone’s attention. It was then that everyone saw that the little femme’s optics were open. Her helm was turned towards them all, away from Wheeljack’s chassis, optics darting between everyone as if studying them.

“Aww, Jackie,” Bulkhead chuckled, “she’s got your optics!”

Athena blinked at the large green mech for a few moments. Tiny servos kneaded on the blanket again, and she cooed.

“She really does!” Miko said, smiling at the little femme this time. She waved at the tiny sparkling and said in the brightest tone Wheeljack had ever heard, “Hi Athena! I’m Miko! And I guess I’m your auntie!”

It had to have been a coincidence that right then and there Athena began crying. Optics closed and scrunched up, servos waved in the air. Miko looked horrified.

“What did I say?”

“You didn’t say anything.” Wheeljack hadn’t noticed that Ratchet was still around, having expected that the medic would have just gone and collapsed into his berth. The medic was immediately at his side, gently rubbing the tip of a digit at Athena’s lipplates. The little femme tried to grab onto his digits and pull them down, opening her tiny mouth. “She hasn’t been fed has she?” Ratchet said. He didn’t give Wheeljack time to answer before he continued, “Reflex. She’s searching for the feeding line. Go take her to Magnus now.”

Wheeljack could only nod as he turned around, half-sprinting to the medical bay.

He didn’t know what he was expecting to see when he stumbled in, but it took him by surprise to see Magnus sitting up and about to step off the berth, even in his still weak state. The Commander of the Wreckers held his arms out towards Wheeljack, gesturing for the other Wrecker to place the crying sparkling in them. He did so, and only stood back and watched as the blue mech opened his chassis plates and produced a clear, thick tube filled with bright blue energon. Magnus rubbed the tip over Athena’s lipplates, and winced slightly when the little femme latched on, dentae biting down on the tip.

A long, pleasant silence passed by, Magnus cradling Athena to his chassis and soothing her whenever she whimpered. Wheeljack didn’t seem to be able to do anything other that look on in awe.

He remembered Magnus from the past, how he had been. Authoritative and demanding of your obedience. Driving him up the wall each time he talked. He remembered that and tried to reconcile those images and memories with the scene before him now.

“How was she?” a raspy voice Wheeljack didn’t recognize as Magnus’s until a moment later asked. “Did they do anything, say anything, Wheeljack?”

Wheeljack shook his helm, smiled even though Magnus couldn’t see him. “Nah. All of them loved her. Though she did start crying just as Miko introduced herself to our bitlet as her “auntie”, whatever that is.”

Magnus only gave a tired grin. Wheeljack leaned against his shoulder and watched as Athena finished her feeding, popping the tube from her mouth and curling up into her carrier’s chassis once more. Safety, comfort, love, home.


	10. Family

Ratchet chuckled lightly as tiny, chubby servos grasped at his digits and at the scanning wand in his servo. Soft coos and chirps echoed in the medical bay.

“Athena,” Magnus gently chastised the little femme, his larger digits slowly prying hers from Ratchet’s, and sighing when she grasped at his digits. “Let Ratchet tend to you.”

 _Chirp._ Bright blue orbs stared up at him and she grinned.

“Well,” Ratchet laughed as he stored the wand in his subspace, lightly tickling Athena on her midsection and smiling at her squeals, “she’s developing just fine. Motor functions are optimal, she’s looking me directly in the optics, and she’s got good control over her servos, as we can both see. Very alert sparkling for her very young age, I might add.”

“So, there is nothing wrong with her?”

“Nothing. You’ve got a healthy little bitlet here.” Ratchet moved his servo away, and Athena still tried to reach for it. The medic chuckled again and looked up at Magnus. “You and Wheeljack did an excellent job. Both of you have been interacting with her, I assume?”

“Yes.” Magnus shifted the little femme in his arms, and Athena chirped and waved her servos in the air, glancing between her carrier and the medic. “We have been taking turns lulling her into recharge. Wheeljack is there when I feed her, and when she has had her fill he takes her to clean her up while I clean myself up. When I am unable to care for her, Wheeljack will take over.”

“Where is Wheeljack?”

Athena cooed and squirmed in her carrier’s arms. Magnus smiled down at her as he answered, “He and Bulkhead were assigned patrol duty today.”

“But…weren’t you assigned?”

Magnus gave Ratchet his most innocent look. The medic had known the Wrecker Commander long enough to see past it. Ratchet’s faceplates broke out into a grin. “You changed rosters, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, Ratchet,” Magnus replied in the most innocent voice he could muster as he kissed Athena on her forehelm, making the sparkling coo and reach out to touch his faceplates. “I merely mentioned wanting to spend more time with this little one to Optimus. When I reported for duty, Wheeljack had been scheduled to replace me on patrol.”

Athena giggled as her chubby servos grabbed a hold of his forehelm crest, yanking it. Magnus squawked in a rather undignified manner as he raised his servo to gently pry the little digits off his crest. “No, no, your carrier needs that, Athena.”

 _Chirp!_ Bright blue optics stared at him and tiny servos opened and closed. Ratchet couldn’t help but chuckle as he gently waved both carrier and sparkling out of the medical bay.

.-.-.

“I don’t care how fun it is Wheeljack,” Magnus narrowed his optics at the smaller mech and clutched a cooing Athena closer to his chassis. “I will not allow Athena to crawl around on the ground and get herself dirty and/or possibly sick!”

The white-armored Wrecker scoffed as he nudged his commander and co-creator of his sparkling through the ground bridge. “You don’t start getting her around a bit of dirt and germs, she’ll be a sickly sparklin’ all her life. And you don’t want that, do you?”

“Certainly not. There’s got to be something else.”

“Nope.” The ground bridge closed behind them and Wheeljack quickly took Athena from her carrier’s arms. Magnus made to grab for her again but then restrained himself. Wheeljack did have a point. The larger mech held back as he watched the smaller mech lift Athena into the air. The little femme giggled and stretched her arms out to sides, as if she were flying. Wheeljack grinned and began waving her around.

A grin broke out across Magnus’s faceplates even as he said, “She may look like me but she acts a lot like you, Wheeljack.”

“Oh yeah?” The Wrecker chuckled and lowered her closer to him, cradling the little femme to his chassis and tickling her on her midsection. Athena squealed and squirmed and waved her servos in the air. “How so?”

How so? Magnus’s grin slackened a bit and he merely answered, “She is a happy sparkling and takes pleasure in the littlest things. Just like you.”

“Heh.” Wheeljack brought Athena up to his faceplates and sat down on the ground.

It was then that Magnus looked up and realized where they were. Forest. And a lake in front of them. The sun shining a brilliant yellow across a blue, blue sky overhead. Shrill giggles and splashing water caught the carrier’s attention, and he looked down to see Wheeljack with Athena in the lake, the Wrecker holding onto the little femme as she reached out and splashed the water around with her little servos.

“Be careful, Wheeljack!”

“Don’t worry Magnus,” Wheeljack smiled, watching Athena splash the water all over herself. She was quite the happy sparkling right now. “I got her.”

Magnus huffed and glanced down at the water, debating whether or not to join the other mech and their daughter. He decided against it for now. He sat against a tree and watched as Athena had the time of her short life thus far, getting water everywhere and squirming and flailing in her Sire’s grasp, chirping and squealing. Wheeljack…he had never seen Wheeljack that happy before.

Being a sire seemed to suit him well. The larger mech couldn’t help the grin that crossed his faceplates.

.-.-.

“So what happens with us now?”

It seemed a long time before Wheeljack finally trudged out of the lake, a tired sparkling in his arms. Athena’s optics were half-closed and dimmed, and she yawned widely as her sire transferred over to her carrier’s arms. She curled against his spark, lulled to a fitful recharge by the comforting sounds of his spark beating and pulsing.

Magnus had been staring out across the lake at the forest and mountains beyond it when Wheeljack spoke. He turned his helm to his left, where the white-armored Wrecker sat, and arched an optic ridge. “I’m not sure what you mean, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack stared at the carrier of his sparkling for a brief moment. He closed his optics and sighed then reopened them. “I’m talking about us, Magnus. What happens with us now?”

Athena stirred in her recharge and Magnus looked down, making sure she was alright before looking back at the other mech. He pursed his lipplates and looked down again. He knew what Wheeljack was talking about, but he didn’t know what to say. A long silence passed between them, and then he heard Wheeljack sigh again, saw him turn his helm towards the darkening clouds on the horizon.

“Y’know, I never thought I’d have a kid,” Wheeljack chuckled wryly. “What I’m asking is what becomes of us now. Just a while ago, months ago, we couldn’t stand each other. I was always disobeying you, you always called me a ruffian and an insubordinate.” The white armored Wrecker pursed his lipplates and closed his optics. “Then by some weird joke from Primus we end up interfacin’ and you end up sparked. I help you throughout your carryin’ ‘n more ways than one and I’m there when you spark our kiddo. What I mean is what happens to us now, now that the kiddo’s here,” he reopened his optics and looked over to the sleeping femme in Magnus’s arms. “Do we…do we just go our separate ways? Do we get together? What?”

Athena squirmed and opened her mouth, yawning again. Her blue optics opened for a brief moment before closing again. Magnus whispered softly to her, murmuring the few lullabies he could remember from eons ago. Her servos opened and closed, gripping at nothing. Magnus gently touched one of her helm fins, and chuckled quietly when it twitched.

“I’d really appreciate an answer, _sir_.” Wheeljack thinned his lipplates and looked away from the sight of carrier and child, looking again at the horizon.

Sighing deeply, Magnus looked over at Wheeljack, stroking the top of Athena’s helm with his free servo. “I have asked myself those very questions Wheeljack. Even before our daughter arrived. But I know this for certain. I believe that if we attempted a relationship of romantic sorts, even cohabitating, we would not come out of it unscathed. And neither would Athena.”

Wheeljack had to admit that Magnus was right. It would not be healthy to expose Athena to the sort of odd, twisted, argumentative and insubordinate relationship he had with her carrier. It would be far more arguing than anything, possibly.

“But…I can’t keep away from Athena, Magnus.” The look in Wheeljack’s optics struck Magnusin the deepest part of his emotional core. “Even though I didn’t want sparklings in the first place, I can’t…I’d like to be part of her life. Even if we don’t get together, I don’t want to have to keep away from her.”

Magnus stayed staring at Wheeljack for a good long while, sighing and contemplating everything that the Wrecker had said. He nodded slowly and then cleared his vocalizer. “And I wouldn’t dare keep her away from her Sire.”

Wheeljack perked up, looking hopefully at the Wrecker Commander. Magnus nodded again and smiled, “As much as I do not desire a romantic relationship, nor to cohabitate, with the sire of my daughter, I harbor no ill will against you. And I wouldn’t dream of keeping you out of her life.”

“You mean it?”

“She is happy when she is with you, a likeminded. When she is happy, I have no reason to deny her anything.”

He had never seen Wheeljack smile so brightly, so broadly. He nodded again and gently placed Athena in Wheeljack’s arms. The little femme squirmed and cooed. The smile that Wheeljack gave their daughter warmed Magnus’s spark.

It was quiet again for a few moments. Magnus leaned his helm back and closed his optics, smiling.

“Magnus,” Wheeljack shifted Athena in his arms, “you know how you said she’s like me? Happy and all?”

“Yes.”

“I found a way that she’s just like you. Know how you hate it when someone interrupts your recharge?”

Magnus opened his optics and turned his helm towards Wheeljack, an optic ridge arched in confusion. Wheeljack smirked and looked down, lifting his free servo to tickle Athena on her midsection. If Athena were awake she would have squealed and giggled but in this instance she was in recharge. The tickling startled her awake.

Both Wreckers laughed uproariously as Athena hissed at her Sire, narrowing her optics at him.


End file.
